A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery (5 page)

She rocked on her heels and smoothed her lavender miniskirt, then fluffed the ruffles on her bright purple blouse. “I remember. But it didn’t just
lessen
the effect. It did
nothing
. Not so much as a—” Her gaze lingered on the limp flag.

I held up my hand, palm out. “I don’t need the details.” Why did people always think I needed the details? “The potion needs to be in its pure form for maximum”—I stressed the word—“
potency
.”

“But, Carly, I can’t just give him the potion straight from the bottle.”

“Why not?” Dudley hadn’t ever had trouble taking one of my concoctions before. When she didn’t say anything, realization hit. “You didn’t tell him you came to me for a potion?”

This happened more than I liked, someone slipping another person a potion. If not for the Backbone Effect it would make me a nervous wreck. But because of that rule, I knew that the potions would have little effect on unsuspecting targets—unless they were unconsciously amenable to the potion’s treatment.

She fidgeted with her big-hooped earring. “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He’s already feeling so poorly about not being able to . . . I hoped the potion would give him back a little confidence. You can help with another potion, right? Please tell me you can help.” Her voice dropped. “A girl has needs, you know?”

I knew that, too. If Emmylou had a clue about my near-celibate life, she’d probably melt on the sidewalk in a puddle of disbelief. Or maybe
relief
that she didn’t share my fate. Well, up till now.

“I can help, but you’re probably going to have to tell him about the potion.” I couldn’t imagine how she’d get him to drink it otherwise—plus, he’d probably welcome the help. “The shop’s closed today, but stop by tomorrow. Hopefully by then I’ll reopen.”

Emmylou heaved an exasperated sigh. “Tomorrow? I’ve got to wait till tomorrow? Really?”

“Nothing I can do about it. Sheriff’s orders.”

Her hands fluttered over her chest. “I heard about poor Nelson Winston. Bless his heart.”

Inhaling deeply, I decided this wasn’t the time to explain to Emmylou that in this town “Bless your heart” was a thinly veiled put-down and not at all the endearment Emmylou thought it was.

Or maybe she did know. “Were you friends with Nelson?”

She waved a hand. “Of course. Isn’t everyone? He and Dudley were close, and he’s been my lawyer since moving to town. I thought him to be a perfectly lovely man. A true gentleman. I was sorry to hear about his passing, especially the way it happened. Tragic. Dudley’s beside himself.”

Well, that wasn’t going to help his
dudliness
at all.

I couldn’t help thinking about what Emmylou said. Nelson did seem to be friendly with everyone in town—but obviously someone had had an issue with him. “Did you hear Nelson was thinking about taking a job in the city?”

Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t, but I’m not surprised. He’s a mighty good lawyer, and the case with Coach Butts has garnered him a lot of attention.”

Heat bugs buzzed as I once again wondered if there was a connection between Coach Butts and Nelson’s death. And how I could find out.

Emmylou tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I best be going. I’m meeting Dudley for a picnic later to hopefully take his mind off Nelson, catering two wedding parties tonight, and tomorrow I’ll be taking the food truck to the church’s white-elephant sale and Johnny Braxton’s extravaganza. Lots to do! Busy, busy, busy! But I’ll be sure to make time to stop in and pick up that potion.”

Johnny’s extravaganza. I’d forgotten all about it—but now Mama’s costume made some sense. Johnny Braxton was my mother’s biggest competitor, always trying to woo couples to his chapel, The Little Wedding Chapel of Love, with themed events. There was nothing my mama liked better than showing him up, even if it meant playing unfairly.

She surely had something planned to sabotage his event.

As I watched Emmylou strut away, her ruffles flouncing, she suddenly whirled around. “I just had a notion. You know who might have more information about Nelson?”

“Who?”

“Nelson’s girlfriend.”

“He has a girlfriend?” This was the first I had heard of it. “Who is she? Someone local?”

“Oh, I don’t know
who
it is. Just that he has one. A woman can tell these things, and there was definitely a new girl in his life. Someone serious, too, if his behavior was any indication. Find her, Carly Hartwell, and you’ll find the answers to some of your questions.”

T
he phone was ringing as I came in the back door, the one that led straight into the kitchen. I snatched the cordless from the wall and breathlessly said, “Hello!”

“Heavens above, child. Do you know what your mama is up to?”

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.”

“Not funny, Carlina Hartwell.”

“Daddy, I’m busy,” I said, trying to head off my father’s vocal, impassioned disapproval of my mother’s behavior. “You knew what Mama was like when you asked her to marry you.”

“Thirty years ago, Carly, and yet do I have a ring on my finger? I am a man long-suffering. A man aggrieved. A man who—”

Roly and Poly ran into the kitchen and proceeded to flop at my feet and roll back and forth.

They were aptly named.

I sat on the plywood floor and gave the two cats belly rubs—something most cats didn’t care for but mine loved. Usually they came to work with me every day, but I couldn’t very well take them this morning, when I was on the run from a mob.

“Daddy,” I interrupted before he launched into a full-blown soliloquy. Augustus Hartwell had been waiting four decades for my mama to marry him and there was still no wedding date in sight. My mama didn’t believe in marriage, but my daddy, a hopeless romantic, still hadn’t given up hope of getting a wedding band on her finger.

“She’s going to send me to an early grave.”

Despite knowing better, I asked, “What does she have planned?”

“I’m not sure, but she’s plotting something to compete with Johnny Braxton’s country-music, weekend-wedding extravaganza. All I know is that Johnny’s making himself up to look like Johnny Cash,” my father said, “and is having a karaoke-party weekend, so I can only imagine what your mama will do.”

Pain was beginning to pulse behind my left eye, and I wished I had some white-willow bark, which was great for getting rid of headaches, at home instead of only at my shop.

Fluffy Roly, who was mostly white with a light gray head and tail, nudged her face into my hand and looked at me with bright green eyes. Chubby Poly, who had medium-length dark gray fur with patches of muted orange on his face, hopped up on the counter. He glanced at me with his big amber-colored eyes, then stared longingly at the treat canister.

I didn’t need to tap into his energy to know what he was thinking. Poly was always hungry.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Daddy said, “and with me being out of town, I need your help talking your mama out of any potential plans.”

I nearly laughed. “No one has the ability to talk Mama out of anything.”

My father breathed out a long sigh, the kind only a man who’d lived with my mother for thirty years could produce. “Kidnap her or something. We don’t need to borrow any more trouble from Johnny.”

It was true—we didn’t. The Hartwell/Braxton feud rivaled the Hatfields and McCoys. The thing was, Daddy wasn’t kidding about the kidnapping.

“Daddy, I don’t think—”

A knock sounded on the front door and my head snapped up. The townsfolk couldn’t possibly be here already. I’d told them four o’clock. . . . Usually they respected my wishes on the rare times I had to work from home.

Another knock, this time louder.

“Think what?” he asked.

“I have to go, Daddy. Someone’s at the door.”

“But your mama . . . We have to stop her.”

“I’ll have to call you back,” I said, and hung up.

I dislodged Roly from my lap, and before Poly knocked the whole canister off the counter I gave both a treat.

A slight breeze billowed the white sheers in the living room. Thankfully, the big windows were shaded by the trees, or else the place would have been truly stifling. Ceiling fans lazily stirred the hot air; the air-conditioning hadn’t worked since I’d bought the place.

Construction debris was scattered across the room. Moving boxes, furniture covered in old sheets, boxes of nails, screws, and tubs of wall putty. Rolls of insulation, stacks of drywall, and reclaimed pine floorboards took up one side of the large space. It was a dusty mess—and the sad fact was that the whole house looked the same. Every single room was undergoing a transformation.

A shadowy figure lurked behind the leaded glass in the old oak door. Creaky hinges squealed as I pulled open the door. My eyes widened when I saw my visitor. “You again?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, holding on to my locket.

Dylan Jackson said, “I heard there’s an underwear drawer in need of searching. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

His green eyes flashed and his voice dropped to a sensuous level. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your panties before.”

A
whoosh
of betraying desire suddenly swept over me. I tried my best to ignore it. Casually, I said, “I burned those when our relationship went up in flames.”

Literally went up in flames. Though the fire had been accidental, I swear.

Still wearing his dark jeans and faded tee, he looked damn good standing there. I hated that I noticed.

“You have a thing for setting things aflame, don’t you?”

Once. It had only been once.

Okay, twice. But the first time was when I was a teenager and didn’t count. Much. Deciding to ignore his barb, I said, “What’re you doing here?”

He shifted his weight and the playfulness in his eyes disappeared, replaced with a sharp intelligence. “I told you earlier I’d have a few questions for you. So either you let me in or you can come down to the jail and do this formally.”

Since he put it that way, I stepped back so he could pass. I wasn’t all that fond of jails, even the teeny-tiny one owned by Darling County. “By all means, come on in.”

He stepped inside and took a look around. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

It had been more than a year since he’d last been in my living room. It had been a work in progress back then, too, but now it was just a plain ol’ war zone.

“Home sweet home,” I said, nudging aside a hammer with my foot.

Roly, the little trollop, came running in from the kitchen. Dylan bent down and rubbed her tummy as she flopped on her back and rolled about in ecstasy. “I think she remembers me,” he said.

“Some men are hard to forget.”

“That doesn’t sound much like a compliment.”

I sat on the arm of the sofa. “Because it wasn’t.”

Dylan said nothing. Just kept rubbing Roly’s tummy. I could hear the cat’s loud purrs from several feet away.

I looked over my shoulder, toward the kitchen, wondering where Poly had gone off to, since he usually never left Roly’s side unless food was involved. No doubt he was probably still trying to figure out how to get the lid off the treat jar. I couldn’t blame him. I could use a cookie about now, too.

Dylan glanced around the living room, peered into the dining room, and beyond that into the kitchen. “Is the whole house like this?”

“Every nook and cranny.”

He leveled his gaze on me.

“What?” I asked in response to the question in his eyes. “Just say it.”

Slowly, he stood up. Roly still lay on the floor, her little gray nose twitching with happiness.

When he remained silent, I said, “You’re either wondering why I don’t just hire someone to finish the place or you’re wondering why I don’t just pack up and move back to the apartment above my mama’s chapel until this place is livable. Either way, you already know the answers, so you can keep your opinions to yourself.”

The corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “I didn’t say a word.”

Oh, that smile. It did things to me. Warm, delicious things. “What did you need to ask me?”

The sooner he left, the better.

He pushed aside a do-it-yourself renovation guide and sat on the edge of my coffee table. He was all business now. “How well did you know Nelson Winston?”

“Not very. Just in passing.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“You mean alive?”

The humor was back in his eyes as he drawled, “Yes, alive.”

I tapped my chin. “Technically, I saw his backside as it ran down the street the day Marjie shot at him. Before that, I can’t rightly recall.”

He let my words settle for a moment before he said, “What day was that, when Marjie shot him?”

“Shot
at
him.”

“At,” he conceded with a roll of his eyes.

I squinted, trying to think back. “Last Friday. No, it was Saturday, because I remember I’d just come from helping at my mama’s buy-one-get-one-free wedding-day special.”

“Buy one, get one free? Weddings?”

Nodding, I said, “A twofer. Two for the price of one.” I bit my thumbnail. “There weren’t many takers. Only two couples, in fact. Sisters marrying brothers. It was nice. The whole chapel was packed.”

Unlike my almost-wedding days.

He drew in a deep breath and when something in his eyes flickered, I suspected he was thinking of those doomed weddings as well.

I couldn’t help myself from asking, “How is your mama these days?”

“Just fine,” he said tightly. “Do you know if Marjie talked to Winston before she shot
at
him?”

“Don’t know.” I swung my foot and made a mental note to rub some antibiotic lotion on my bramble scratches. They were starting to look red and angry. I flicked a speck of lint off my white shorts and reached down and ran my hand over Roly’s body. She purred contentedly, her tail swishing.

Because I was feeling slightly guilty I’d brought up his mama, I said, “I heard Nelson had a girlfriend. Not sure if it’s true.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know who.”

“Who’d you hear it from?”

“Emmylou Pritcherd.”

He grunted and jotted down her name. “She know Nelson well?”

“Apparently he and Dudley are close friends, and Nelson was her lawyer for business stuff. But other than that, I don’t know.”

“You’re not knowing much, Care Bear, are you?”

I glared.

He glared back.

Maybe it was a good thing we hadn’t gotten hitched. Either time.

Though sometimes it didn’t feel good at all. Most times, in fact. Especially when that wide gaping hole in my heart was aching.

Like now.

I tried my best to ignore it. “Did you know Nelson was working on Coach Butts’s case?”

“It’s all the talk around town.”

I bit my thumbnail. “Something is definitely going on with Coach right now. Something . . . not good. I can’t help but wonder if it’s connected to Nelson being splayed out in my shop.”

“And how’d you make that leap, Care Bear?”

I clenched my fists. The nickname was getting to me. “Just a feeling.”

“A witchy feeling?” he asked with a hint of cynicism.

My temper was inching up. “My feelings are rarely wrong.”

He scoffed.

“What? They’re not.”

“Maybe. But they can be
misinterpreted
.”

Not this again. I wasn’t ready to rehash failed wedding attempt number two. I’d like to just forget all about it.

To forget how Dylan and I had run away to Georgia to elope after our first attempt at a wedding had gone horribly wrong, thanks to his mama.

To forget how, as I stood alongside him in a sweet little chapel, wearing a flirty white chiffon dress and holding a small bouquet of lilies, I’d opened myself up to feel his energy.

To forget that instead of feeling the same love and joy I was, I’d been overwhelmed by his doubts, fears, and hesitation.

It had gone downhill from there, culminating with me knocking over a candelabrum as I ran out of the chapel.

I never told anyone why I’d run out. Only Dylan and I knew the truth: His reservations about defying his mother . . . about
me
. . . had doomed our relationship.

There was no
misinterpretation
about that.

I attempted to keep the topic on point. Stubbornly, I said, “I think there’s a connection with Coach.”

“I doubt Coach has anything to do with what happened with Nelson. Why would he? Word is that Nelson was about to get him off scot-free. This isn’t about your grudge with Coach, is it?”

I ignored his implication. I no longer held a grudge against the man; I simply didn’t like him. “You should dig a little deeper. Maybe get Coach’s alibi.”

“Let it go, Care Bear.”

Oooh
, that name. Before I took a swing at him, I jumped off the couch and said, “Are we done?” I’d said my piece. He could go. Immediately.

He snapped his notebook closed. “For now.”

I stormed to the door and held it open, my Nikes kicking up dust in my wake. Dylan languidly rose to his feet and strolled to the doorway.

He wore a half smile as he passed by me, brushing so close that I could smell his aftershave. “Don’t be leaving town.”

I smiled so wide, my cheeks hurt as much as my heart. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Look what happened the last time I did that.”

“Carly . . .”

Suddenly, shouting cut through the tension-filled air.

Dylan looked at me. “Sounds like Hazel.”

I stepped onto the rotting front porch and peered down the street. My aunts Hazel and Eulalie were standing nose to nose in the middle of the road, hollering at each other.

“It’s not a full moon, is it?” I asked. Sometimes Hazel went a little wild when the moon was full.

“Next week,” he said.

Something to look forward to.

When I heard the mention of “brassiere” in the argument, I decided to referee. Dylan followed, never one to miss out on a good show.

My aunts were standing, showdown style, in the middle of the street.

“Give it back, Eulalie!” Hazel shouted.

“It’s mine!” Eulalie yelled back.

The pair was playing tug-of-war with a rather large-cupped, bright pink bra trimmed with black lace.

“You wish,” Hazel said, eyeing Eulalie’s small chest.

Eulalie’s eyes went wide. “I’ll have you know I’ve been using those chicken-cutlet doohickeys to enhance my décolletage.”

I looked over at Mr. Dunwoody’s house to make sure he wasn’t hearing this argument. He was nowhere to be seen, but Dylan was looking more than a little amused.