A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery (21 page)

I
t turned out that Delia hadn’t needed to share her guest room with me. I’d spent the night in the emergency room at Pape Medical Center in Huntsville, with my mama, daddy, and aunts Hazel and Eunice hovering over me like a bunch of mama hens protecting their chick. Marjie had declined to come, on account that she hated hospitals. I didn’t blame her one bit. If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been there, either.

I’d been released just after dawn, and my aunts were driving me home. We’d already dropped off Delia, and it had been quite the production explaining why she’d been with me in the first place.

I was fine. A few bumps, scrapes, and cuts were all. Nothing a little salve and a potion or two couldn’t take care of.

Unlike Angelea.

She was in the ICU, clinging to life. So far the baby was clinging, too, but the doctors didn’t have high hopes that either would survive much longer.

Aunt Hazel swerved into my driveway and slammed on the brakes. I had a flashback to the night before and gave myself a mental shake.

Aunt Eunice chided her sister for her reckless driving, which started an argument that could probably be heard into the next county about who was the better driver. Wincing, I shoved open the back door, yelled, “Thank you for the ride!” and slammed the door closed.

They were still arguing as I climbed the back steps. I, unfortunately, caught my reflection in the glass of the back door. Delia hadn’t been kidding about my hair. My freckled face was scraped and red from the heat of the fire, and soot clung to the skin on my neck, the roots of my hair.

I needed a long, hot bath. A good soaking that would hopefully dissolve the bad memories along with all the dirt.

My aunts peeled out of the driveway, their bickering carrying on the wind.

I reached up above the doorjamb for the spare key and slid it into the lock. I slipped inside the house, hoping that Coach was long gone out of town and not sticking around for more retribution.

Just in case, I took my pitchfork from the broom closet and suddenly realized how quiet it was in the house. Mr. Dunwoody still had Roly and Poly, but this quiet went beyond that. Then it hit me. There was no hum coming from the fridge, no whir from the ceiling fan.

I cut on the lights, only for them to remain dark.

My power was out again.

I grabbed the phone, and it, too, was dead.

The critters in the wall had declared war, and I was ready to wave a white flag. It had been one of those weeks.

With a heavy feeling of dread, I realized my plan for a hot bath was out the window. I couldn’t stay here. I’d pack some clothes and head . . .

Where?

I was still in the same sinking boat I’d been in the day before. With Coach on the loose no one was safe.

I’d just have to go back to Delia’s. Resolutely, I trudged toward the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks once I stepped foot in the living room.

“Can I shoot him?” my aunt Marjie asked.

My gaze whipped to Coach Butts, who cowered in the corner near the front door.

Marjie was perched on the edge of the couch, her shotgun aimed squarely at Coach’s chest. By the panicked look in his eye, they’d been here for some time.

“I saw him sneaking round your house in the wee hours and caught him breaking in. I should’ve shot him on the spot, but I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t mind the mess beforehand. Can I shoot him?”

Coach’s eyes went wide. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and darkened the fabric of his shirt. “She’s crazy!”

He was a fine one to talk about crazy.

Marjie cocked the gun. “What did I tell you about using that word?”

“Call the police!” Coach cried, tears streaming from his eyes.

I shrugged. “Can’t. Phone’s dead.”

Marjie chuckled. “Ain’t that a shame? Can I shoot him now?”

“Let me think a second.” On one hand, he deserved what he had coming to him. On the other, I’d just painted the wall. I tapped my fingers on the pitchfork. As I inwardly debated, I heard a door slam. I peeked out the window. “Dylan’s here.”

“Dang it all,” Marjie grumped. “Ain’t no way he’s going to let me shoot him.”

“You might be surprised,” I said. “After what happened last night.”

“How’re you feeling?” Marjie asked. “You look a sight.”

“I’m okay.”

“What happened last night?” Coach asked.

I threw him a dirty look. To Marjie, I said, “If he tries anything, shoot first; ask questions later. I’ve got more paint, so don’t worry none about the mess. I’m going out to talk to Dylan.”

Marjie’s eyes brightened, and Coach kept saying, “What happened?”

I met Dylan on the back steps. He winced when he saw me.

“That good, huh?” I said, sitting down, propping the pitchfork on the railing.

He sat next to me. “Could be worse.”

That I knew. “Any word on Angelea?”

“What’s with the pitchfork?” he asked, eyeing it warily.

A ruckus rose from within the house. “Help! Help!” Coach yelled.

Dylan stiffened. “Who’s that?”

“Coach Butts.”

“What?”

Crows flitted from tree to tree. “Marjie’s got her gun on him. Apparently he broke in here sometime during the night, and she’s had him cornered since. She’s itchin’ to shoot. Can we let her? Pretty please?”

“As much as I love it when you look at me like that, no. Why didn’t she call for help?”

“My phone’s dead again. The power’s off, too.”

He cursed under his breath.

“Tell me about it. I was planning on a long, hot bath.” His eyes darkened, and I felt a blush rising up my neck.

“Does she have him under control?”

“Oh yeah. He’s crying like a baby. Angelea? How is she?” I reminded him before I could do or say something I’d regret.

“Same,” he said.

“Did you find out why her brakes didn’t work?”

“Someone cut the brake line. There was a little fluid on her driveway—she probably lost the rest on the way up to Nelson’s.”

“Wouldn’t she have realized her brakes were going?”

“Maybe. It’s an older car, so she might have thought it was just being temperamental. We might never know.”

“Help! Help!” Coach yelled again.

I was surprised Marjie was showing such restraint. Me? I’d probably have shot him already.

“I’ll radio for backup,” he said, walking to his truck.

“I think Marjie’s the only backup you need.”

“Your family is . . . interesting.”

“I know.”

He made the call on his truck’s radio, then came back over to the step and held out a hand to help me up. With me on the step, we stood eye to eye. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and let his fingers trail down my neck. My heart began thumping hard against my ribs.

“You scared the life out of me last night.”

Love.

“I was careful,” I whispered.

He leaned in, his gaze intent on my lips. Heaven help me, but I knew I couldn’t resist. His lips had barely brushed mine when a shotgun blast split the air.

Dylan said, “Stay here!”

Like hell.

I followed him inside.

Coach lay in the fetal position on the floor, crying buckets of tears.

Marjie beamed from the couch. “It was just a wee little warning shot.”

Buckshot dotted my wall like some sort of abstract art piece.

Dylan quickly cuffed Coach, and it was only a minute more before a sheriff’s car screamed into my driveway. Two beefy deputies rushed into the house and dragged Coach away.

“Miz Marjie,” Dylan said, shaking his head.

Patting his cheek, she said, “Someone’s got to keep the law around here.” She winked at me and headed for the back door.

“I’ve got to get to the jail,” Dylan said. “But after that, I can come back and fix your power proper.”

“Like last time?”

He smiled. “Proper enough until Jasper comes back. What’ll you do in the meantime?”

“Find a bathtub that has hot water. Then go to work. It’ll help take my mind off things. Plus, there are bound to be a lot of customers today, mostly looking for gossip, but they’ll buy potions while they’re there. I can use the business. Especially since I have a costly electrical repair ahead of me.”

“Don’t forget about the drywall work, courtesy of Marjie.”

I glanced at him, thinking about what might have happened if Marjie had come seen me in the hospital. “Thank goodness for Aunt Marjie.”

He nodded. “I should go. You need a ride anywhere?”

“No. I’ll probably bother one of my aunts or Delia for a tub.”

Dylan looked off into the distance, then back at me. “Coach won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Promise?” I asked him. I glanced out the window. My witchy senses were still acting up, and I didn’t know why.

He cupped my face with his hand. “Promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Dylan Jackson.”

His expression turned somber and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I take my promises seriously, Care Bear. I don’t ever break them. You, of all people, should know that.”

I recalled him once promising to love me forever. . . .

Oh.

Love.

“Sometimes I forget,” I murmured, my heart aching for all we had lost.

He nudged my chin, then started for the back door. “Then it’s my job to help you remember. Isn’t it?”

After a second, I said, “I guess so.”

He pulled open the door. “I look forward to it.”

As I watched him drive off, I couldn’t help but think that I was looking forward to it, too.

Very much so.

T
here was nothing quite like the restorative power of hot water. It was Mr. Dunwoody who’d loaned me the use of his guest bath when I went to collect the cats. I’d taken a hot shower first to wash away the grime, then soaked my sore bones for an hour, having to refill the claw-foot tub twice to keep the water steaming hot.

I’d taken my time blow-drying my hair and dabbing on a little makeup to cover the worst of the bruises on my face, but had to use a bandage to cover the cut on my forehead. I changed into clean clothes, putting on my favorite green sundress to brighten my mood, and figured I’d burn the outfit I’d been wearing the day before.

There was one thing I kept from the outfit, however.

The vial pendant and necklace that had been in my pocket. For lack of a better place to put it before giving it back to Delia, it now hung around my neck, the vial tucked under the ruffled neckline of my dress.

Roly and Poly had been so spoiled at Mr. Dunwoody’s that at first they didn’t seem to want to leave with me. Then I reminded them about all the critters in the walls of our house they needed to catch, and they
really
didn’t want to leave.

Finally, I’d bundled them into their carrier, thanked Mr. Dunwoody profusely, and forcibly taken the kitties home. Ordinarily, I’d bring them to the shop with me, but there was the issue of broken glass that I still had to clean up. I didn’t want to risk their paws being cut.

They were home now, sniffing around the living room as if they knew strange people had been inside the house. I, on the other hand, knew there had been strange people in the house, so I was on my way to Déjà Brew for my morning cup of coffee.

If there had ever been a morning I needed caffeine, today was the day.

It was a little past eight when I walked into the coffee shop, the bells on the door chiming loudly. Jessa took one look at me,
tsk
ed, and came around the counter to give me a hug.

“She was in a car wreck last night,” she said to the four customers in the shop, who all collectively
tsk
ed and blessed my heart.

Jessa smelled of vanilla and hugged me like Olive Debbs hugged her father’s leg. I wriggled free and took a seat at the counter. “I’m okay.”

She kept shaking her head, and not a hair in her rat’s-nest bun jiggled a bit. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news this morning. Coffee?”

“Please,” I begged.

“And Angelea? Any news?”

“As far as I know she’s still in the ICU.”

“Good heavenly days!” She kept on
tsk
ing as she held the coffee carafe over a cardboard cup. I reached over to grab the lid so she didn’t have to fuss with it. “And Coach?”

“Back in jail,” I said.

She set down the carafe. “I heard Angelea was having an affair with Nelson and that’s why Coach killed him and tried to kill her.”

News traveled fast. I reached for the cup. “It’s not that cut-and-dried. There’s still some investigating to do.”

It had probably been a mistake to come here, I realized. There was too much talk. Too much gossip. In light of that, it might be a mistake to open the shop today, too. The business would get by. . . .

I’d go clean up the glass, then decide. Technically, I didn’t open till eleven on Sundays, so I had time to figure out if I was ready to face the public.

The front door flew open, the bells nearly flying off their string. I spun around to find Ainsley in the doorway, gasping for breath. “Hell’s bells!” she cried when she spotted me, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

The coffee shop customers were getting quite the show this morning.

Ainsley gave a big smile and scooted to the counter. She took my face in her hands and examined each and every abrasion up close and personal. “Why didn’t you call me?”

She gave me such a stern, motherly look that I almost called her ma’am when I said, “It was late. Then it was too early. Then my phone was dead. Sorry.”

In a rush, she said, “I heard the news about the crash at church and ran straight to your house. Then you weren’t there, but then I saw Mr. Dunwoody . . . so at least I knew you were alive. I’m never going to hear the end of it from Carter about running out the way I did.”

“He’ll understand,” Jessa said, propping her elbows on the counter. “He knows how much you care for Carly.”

“Eventually, maybe.” Ainsley sat down and drew in a deep breath. “Can I get one of those, Jessa?” She motioned to the coffee. “To go. Now that I know Carly is alive, I need to get back to the church. I left the Clingons unsupervised, and that’s never a smart thing to do. I’ll come by the shop this afternoon and get the full scoop.”

Jessa slid a coffee cup and lid across the counter. I slipped off the stool and pulled a five-dollar bill from my pocket, but Jessa waved it away. “On the house today. Oh, and I found this after you left last night, under the chair you were sitting in.” She pulled a silver key out of her apron and handed it to me. “I tried to call you about it but no one answered.”

It was the key Bernice had given me. “Thanks, Jessa. I was looking for that.”

Affectionately, she patted my cheek. “Stop in this afternoon, Carly. Odell’s making your favorite cookies, on account that you didn’t die last night. Chocolate macaroons. “

“I’ll try.” I wasn’t making any promises, though it was sweet of Odell to be thinking of me.

The bells on the door rang out as Ainsley and I stepped outside. She looked at me long and hard. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, now, would you, Carly Hartwell?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I’ll be by straight after services.” She squeezed my hand and marched off across the picnic green, passing Dudley and Emmylou on the way.

Dudley was busy with his metal detector, and Emmylou looked to be lecturing him on how to go about it.

I smiled; some things never changed.

While other things would never be the same.

• • •

As I unlocked the shop and went inside, I couldn’t help but think about Bernice Morris. She’d asked for my help in proving Coach’s innocence in the embezzlement case, and I’d actually done that. But in doing so, it had revealed him to be a killer.

I still had those questions about how Coach had known Nelson drank the potion—and how he’d gotten him into my shop. . . . I hoped Dylan was getting those answers at this very moment, because they were the only puzzle pieces that didn’t fit nice and neat and proper.

What a mess. A hot mess, as Ainsley would say.

I set my coffee cup on the counter and wondered if I should give Bernice a call. I actually picked up the phone, only to set it down again. There were no words I could offer that would set her at ease. Or at peace.

Her brother was going to jail for a long time.

I rubbed my temples and glanced down the hallway at the shards of glass littering the floor. Cleaning up would keep my hands busy, if not my mind.

I had started toward the supply closet when I heard a knock at the front door. I spun and found Delia peeking in. I waved her inside.

Boo was nestled in the crook of her arm. “I brought your bike back. I might have to get myself one. Boo loved riding in the basket.”

“A matching bike?” I asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Blue is not my color.”

“Well, I’m sure you can find one with a skull motif.”

“If not,” she said, “I have a stencil and can design my own.”

I laughed. “I should have known.”

“I have something for you. Here, take Boo.” He licked my fingers.

“What’s she up to?” I said to him, as she dashed out the door.

He wagged his tail.

“You’re seriously too cute for your own good,” I said, rubbing his ears.

Delia was back a second later, a broomstick in her hand. “Here. It’s one of my favorites from my shop.”

Tentatively, I reached out. The stick was gorgeous, a dark wood that had been carved into a spiral. The broom head was thick and lush and expertly woven. “It’s gorgeous. Does it fly?”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “I already told you about that. But I thought no proper witch should be without one.”

I wrapped my fingers around the handle. “Thank you.”

There was a softness in her eyes as she said, “I should get going and open my shop.”

“Wait a sec.” I pulled the vial off my neck. “I need to give this back to you.”

“I told you, it’s yours.” She gathered up Boo.

“I can’t keep it.”

“You’re going to have to, because I’m not taking it back.”

I sighed. “You’re stubborn.”

“It’s a Bell family trait. I’ll see you later.” She pulled open the door.

“Delia?”

She looked back at me, a question in her eyes.

“I wanted to say thanks. You know, for what you did last night. I owe you.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Enough to share the Leilara secret with me?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “You can’t blame a witch for trying.”

As soon as she stepped out, Caleb Montgomery came in, throwing a look over his shoulder as Delia walked away.

“What was she doing here?” he asked.

“What, no ‘How’re you, Carly?’ or ‘I’m so happy you’re alive, Carly’?” I
tsk
ed, sounding very much like Jessa as I set the vial pendant on the counter next to the cash register.

He folded his arms. “Of course I’m happy you’re alive. Don’t be ridiculous.”

The phrase had me thinking about Delia. And him. Delia and him.
Hmm
. The matchmaker in me was at work.

“But really,” he said. “What was she doing here?”

“Bringing back my bike. It was at her house. I’m sure you already heard what happened.”

Caleb gazed at me, his eyes softening. “You could have been killed.”

I appreciated that he didn’t fawn all over me. I’d had my fill of smothering. “But I wasn’t. Mostly thanks to Delia.”

Tossing a look out the window, he said, “I don’t trust her.”

Okay, setting them up wasn’t going to be easy. . . .

“Don’t tell me you do,” he added.

I shrugged. I didn’t trust her. At all. Not yet. “I want to.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Carly.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that why you came here? To lecture me?”

“Yes. And now my job is done.” He kissed my cheek and headed for the door.

“Wait! How was your hot date?”

“Lukewarm.”

“Good.”

“What?”

I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘That’s not good.’”

He eyed me warily. “Eh. Another girl will come along.”

I threw a loofah at him. “Get out of here before I sic Marjie on you.”

Laughing, he ducked out.

Before the door could even close, a hand reached out held it open. For being closed, I sure was busy.

A bolt of surprise went through me as the man stepped into the shop. “What are you doing here?”

Johnny Braxton said, “I need your help.”