Midsummer Night's Mayhem (4 page)

She didn’t believe that for a second. Police records were public records that always came to light, no matter how hard they tried to keep them secret. “Honestly, Lance, you have a reputation for being a by-the-book sheriff. I suspect it won’t be a quick peek in my closet. I’m sure you’ll make a record of everything you find and place that list in the case file for everyone to read.”

“Is that a problem?” His eyes narrowed as if trying to read her response.

“Clover is a very private person. She doesn’t want her business being part of the public record,” Vivi countered.

“I don’t see why you need to look through the house since the crime took place outside. There’s nothing here that links to the crime or to Oliver Yearling,” Derek said, but the sheriff wasn’t budging.

“I’ll be the judge of that. As you said, guests were mingling around the house and the grounds, so I have to look everywhere. This is a serious matter that deserves a thorough investigation. And your spelled closet is in my path.”

Clover’s throat went dry, and she went to get a drink of cold water from the tap, scrambling for an idea. “Maybe we can compromise. You could investigate the grounds or maybe some suspects and wait until the case takes shape before looking in the closet. I assure you, it contains my personal property and has nothing to do with Oliver Yearling or his death.” Maybe she could buy a little time.

“I can back her up. Clover isn’t hiding anything,” Vivi said. “She’d never interfere with your investigation. She values her privacy. You can understand that.”

“No, actually I can’t. A wizard has been murdered on her property during her party. Privacy just went out the window. Now, I’d like to do this as painlessly as possible.”

“I can testify to the fact the spell had been activated prior to the party starting. There’s nothing unusual about it. It was put in place for personal security, nothing more,” Derek chimed in, fists clenching at his side. “Clover is an upstanding citizen, great boss, and a witch of good character. What justification do you have to go through her private things? You have no right.” Impatience flared in his voice.

Lance shot Derek a stern glance. “It doesn’t matter what I think about Ms. Mayhem and her character. This is an investigation, and I have to treat her like I would any other suspect in any case.”

“Suspect?” Vivi barked. “You can’t be serious!”

“She’s using a powerful concealment spell. She could be hiding evidence. So, yes, she’s a suspect. I can’t take Derek’s word alone.”

“I still can’t tell you. It’s my personal property.” Clover stood her ground. There was no way the sheriff, his officers, and magical crime scene spells were going anywhere near her secret stash.

“We’ve known each other a long time. Why don’t you just tell me? What’s so important?” Lance pushed back his chair and stood.

“Please, Lance. Give me some time, a few days at least. Just to think things through.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. If I have to get a warrant, I will. I’d hoped we were on good enough terms that you would cooperate with the investigation.”

Clover felt the situation spinning out of control. Lance wasn’t going to budge and she couldn’t blame him. He was just doing his job and was caught in the middle. “You’ll need a warrant to get into that closet because I won’t let you in without one.” Clover crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. She was being stubborn, but that too was the Mayhem sister way. There had to be a way around this. She just hadn’t figured it out yet. “I understand you can’t take my word for it and have to look, but I need to wrap my head around everything that’s happened. Please understand that. It’s been a rough morning.” She needed time to think about her next move.

“I’ll see what I can do. But I assure you the investigation will be moving forward, swiftly.” The sheriff nodded to Vivi before slipping out the back door.

“What are you going to do now?” Vivi asked.

“There is only one thing I can do,” Clover said. “I’m going to find out who murdered Oliver Yearling and quickly. I don’t know if it will work, but the only way I can keep my secret safe is to find the real killer. Then Lance won’t have a reason to snoop around in my closet.”

Vivi’s eyes widened, skepticism written all over her face. “That sounds like a tough task. But I see the reasoning. Whatever I can do to help, just name it.”

“I’m in. But I hope you know what you’re doing,” Derek said.

“Not really. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. It’s the Mayhem sister way.”

“Actually, drama is the Mayhem way. I can attest to that,” Vivi said.

5

C
lover woke early and slipped out of bed. Her sleep had been restless. She’d dreamed she was spinning around her garden, tangled in a macabre dance with Oliver Yearling. He kept trying to tell her something, pulling her close, whispering something into her ear, but the second she was close enough to hear him, she would get swept up in a wave of mischief makers and spun away from him. A knot twisted in the pit of her stomach as she realized yesterday hadn’t been a bad dream.

The wooden steps up to the attic were cold beneath her bare feet. She should have hidden her stuff up here and been done with it, but there wasn’t time for regrets now. She navigated stacks of boxes and an old steamer trunk, finally locating a dust-coated hatbox. Inside was a small velvet box. The fabric smooth under her fingers, the box had belonged to her great-great- grandmother Rosemary, the contents passed down for generations. Since Clover had the space, she had been entrusted with most of the family heirlooms.

Clover cracked open the box, revealing a stunning silver amulet with a blue gem the size of robin’s egg inside. She fingered the necklace, deciding that now was the time to use it. Never again would she be blindsided by a terrible event, at least not if the amulet still worked. Rosemary had infused it with a powerful spell—a trouble teller. The stone was rumored to glow blue whenever dire trouble was close at hand. Of all the Mayhem witches, Rosemary had endured the worst of it, so it was no wonder she had created a magical device to warn her.

Clover slipped the necklace around her neck, the gemstone resting on her chest. Within seconds, she felt the amulet warm and pulse, activating. The image of beautiful young Rosemary appeared before her. Her long auburn hair fell to her shoulders. Her skin was clear, her chin strong. She held her head high, shoulders back. Clover needed to tap into Rosemary’s strength right about now. The image spoke, giving Clover a jolt.

If you are seeing me now, then times have turned bad for you, dear sister. I created the amulet to give the wearer a warning of trouble close at hand. It is nothing more than that. The rest is up to you, brave witch, to respond, to protect yourself and others, and to fight against the lurking darkness that always comes with a curse. I discovered long ago that hiding never works, but a little preparation never hurts. All my best, sister.

Seeing her great-great-grandmother caused a wave of nostalgia to wash over her. She was glad she found the amulet, reminding her of her family’s strength. The trouble teller gave her a little peace of mind. She put the empty box back and made her way downstairs. Clover showered and stared at her long tangled hair in the mirror. After speaking a quick drying spell, her hair went from soggy tendrils to warm curls in mere minutes. She pulled on a long cotton skirt and layered on two tank tops. She felt a hot day coming on.

Derek had brewed up a pot of coffee and left her a note, saying he’d be back later, so she had the place to herself, or so she thought. With a coffee mug clutched tightly in hand, Clover walked out onto the back porch and wasn’t a bit surprised to find Juniper already on the job for the day.
What else could she possibly be looking for?
A small army of witches and wizards had probed her yard all day yesterday, the air still buzzing with magical residue from all the specialized spells they’d cast.

“Good morning,” Clover called and the assistant deputy walked over to her. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. Got to stay focused. Caffeine makes me jittery. I’m high-strung enough as is.” Her wand was clutched in her hand at the ready.

“How’s the investigation going?” Clover asked. “Any news you can share?”

“I wanted to let you know the sheriff has put me on point, and I’ll be heading up the investigation for now under his supervision, of course.” A barely suppressed smile played on her lips.

“Is this a promotion?”

“In a way. I’ve finished all my courses and done my hours of assistance work. Now I need to be tested, and since I was the first witch on the scene it makes sense. The sheriff feels I’m ready. But don’t worry, he’ll be watching me like a hawk.”

“I’m not worried. You’ll be great.”
And obsessively diligent,
Clover thought. Just what she needed: a by-the-book sheriff and an ambitious assistant deputy trying to prove herself by snooping around her house. She sighed. This wasn’t about her; it was about finding Oliver’s killer—
the lurking darkness,
as Rosemary called it. “We haven’t had a murder in the Meadowlands for decades. Everyone’s pretty spooked.”

“Oh, we know. Messages have been flooding the station since yesterday. You should also know that Sheriff Gardener has given me three days to investigate everyone at the party until he uses
the warrant
.” She rested her hand on her cocked hip. “You got lucky.”

“That’s a relief for now, I guess.” The knot in her stomach loosened, slightly. The reprieve gave her a few days at least. “What made him change his mind?”

“Strategy. With no clear motive, you aren’t the prime suspect. We’re focusing on more pertinent evidence.” She squared her shoulders. “But trust me, he will serve the warrant. So whatever secret you have, you’d better be prepared to share it.”

“Not if I can help it,” Clover said under her breath and took a gulp of coffee.

“What was that?” Juniper asked with a good-natured smirk.

“I said it’s kind of him to give me extra time. I know I’m pushing him, but what’s in my closet won’t help your investigation.”

“Actually, I think it’s the logical thing to do, since we have so many suspects to check out from the party. Plus, the sheriff has a soft spot for your sister, and deep down he doesn’t think you’re a murderer, but rules are rules. In his eyes, you’re a suspect until you aren’t.”

Clover walked down the back steps, before she realized the obvious. “If you’re supposed to be interviewing suspects from the party, what are you doing in my yard this morning?”

“Very observant. I came to get a guest list, which Derek already told me is practically the whole town.”

Strange that Juniper came all this way for a guest list, which she could have sent a messenger to pick up. “He’s right. Is that all you came for?” Clover probed. “That doesn’t answer why you’re in my yard this morning after all the work you and your team did yesterday.”

Juniper stiffened. “I really can’t talk specifics about the investigation.”

Clover considered the investigation from the deputy’s perspective. Once Juniper knew the cause of death, she’d probably need to search for evidence to support the cause—like a weapon. What evidence could be still in the yard? Had they missed something, or had something changed?

“Are you looking for a specific kind of weapon?” she asked, realizing it was probably futile and it was, since Juniper shook her head, lips sealed. Clover sensed she was on the right track through, and ideas bounced around her mind.

Oliver hadn’t been physically hurt that she could tell, so the weapon wasn’t an obvious one. The she remembered the swab of his mouth and his glowing lips. “He ingested something, right?” Clover eyed Juniper relentlessly, trying to get a response. Her thoughts raced, puzzle pieces floating into place. Then suddenly the murder weapon became obvious to her. “Poisoning,” she whispered the word and knew exactly why Juniper was in her yard, or more specifically,
her garden
.

Clover set her cup down in the grass and took off up the stone pathway to her garden that was divided into small sections—flowers, vegetables, mossy pathways, and fragrant nooks with sitting areas. When she reached the white picket fence, she saw two officers trampling through her tender plants with their wands raised, casting glowing purple-hued identification spells. Not surprising, they couldn’t identify the plants by sight alone.

“You could have asked me,” Clover said when Juniper reached her side. “Maybe I can help.”

“Now you want to help.” Juniper smirked.

“If it keeps you from trampling my garden.” She shrugged. “What was it? The poison?” Curiosity bloomed inside her.

“You know I can’t tell you anything.” Juniper’s expression was unflinching.

“I know you don’t understand, but I do want to find Oliver’s killer.”

“Why not leave it up to us? Why are you getting involved?” Juniper turned the sharp gaze back on her.

“Oliver didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, and neither did I. I’m doing this for both of us.” Whether it sounded selfish or not, it was the truth.

“And the closet. Don’t forget the closet,” Juniper said sarcastically.

A sweaty young officer hurried up to Juniper. “We didn’t find any belladonna,” he blurted out and then his eyes darted from Juniper to Clover and he realized his mistake. “Sorry.”

Juniper gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, keep at it. I’m not satisfied yet.”

A shiver went up Clover’s spine. “That’s a terrible way to die.”

Belladonna was also known as deadly nightshade. The lethal dose of poison would have completely shut down Oliver’s system, rendering him sick and helpless. The plant was deadly, but not entirely uncommon. In decades past, witches gifted in the healing arts, who knew how to handle it, occasionally used the herb as a medicine, but in Clover’s opinion, only the foolish used it anymore since there were more modern and safer remedies. In the wrong hands it was a potent poison. “Are you sure Oliver wasn’t using it medicinally?”

Juniper unlatched the garden gate. “I think we’ve said enough. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

“You’re not going to find any belladonna in there,” Clover said. “I don’t grow any poisonous plants.”

“That might be so, but it doesn’t mean we aren’t going to look.” Juniper nodded and joined the other officers.

Clover had to get moving. At least now she knew a little bit more than she had when she woke up—someone had poisoned one of her party guests—but the how and why still lingered. She always considered poison to be the coward’s murder weapon. Today was not going to be an easy day. First thing she needed to do was get her hands on a homemade pie.

Clover pulled at the hem of her dress with one hand while balancing a blueberry pie in the other. The black dress was tight and riding up in the back. She rarely wore black and the one black dress she owned had been a lot bigger the last time she tried it on. It must have shrunk in the wash. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Oliver Yearling’s house. His son’s hovercraft and a string of other vehicles were parked out front. Clover believed in tradition and wanted to give her condolences to Austin.

A frazzled young witch with frizzy blonde hair and wearing a black mini dress swung open the door and didn’t wait to greet her before motioning her inside. “Austin, another witch is here!” she called over her shoulder. A sleek cat howled and dashed out the front door. The witch rolled her eyes. “Cocoa, come back here. You just let out Oliver’s familiar.”

“Sorry,” Clover said, though technically it wasn’t her fault Cocoa made a break for it. “I’m Clover Mayhem. His neighbor.”

The witch’s eyes went wide as her gaze lowered, regarding the pie with disdain. “Austin’s in the living room. It’s that way.” She motioned with her head and scooped the pie right out of Clover’s hands. “There are refreshments in the dining room,” she said holding the pie as far away from her body as her skinny arms would allow as she carried it into the kitchen.

Clover had been in the elegant house a long time ago before Oliver moved in and knew the basic layout. She followed the rise and fall of voices down the hall and into a formal living room where Austin Yearling was surrounded by a group of witches all dressed in black. Clover wasn’t surprised that a pack of mourners had already gathered like a flock of curious blackbirds, wanting to pay their respects. News of the poisoning was surely on everyone’s tongue. Look how easily she’d found out.

Witches took mourning seriously. That coupled with their love of gossip and the murder, and the place would be packed solid by the afternoon. Gatherings were important. There was strength in numbers, and in Everland the motto of
a coven of one
was all about forming supportive community bonds. And getting the dirty details firsthand never hurt.

Everyone stopped and stared when Clover walked in. The silence was brutal, but it was quickly filled with equally disturbing whispers. She caught snippets—Mayhem, curse, nightshade, raucous party where he was killed, and her particular favorite, weird sisters. Gossip was one thing, but she hadn’t anticipated that
she
would be the main subject. It felt like she was being pecked by a flock of hens. It wasn’t her fault Oliver died at her party. A hot wash of embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She’d gone from party hostess to pariah in a matter of days.

Austin sat in a high-backed chair by a window. He wore an expensive black suit, which looked overly formal for summer. He was short and thin like his father, but not nearly as stern looking. He had done well for himself. His
persuasion
was numbers, and he worked in Stargazer City doing investment banking. The fact Austin visited his father twice a week only made this sadder. They’d been close. They’d had each other, Oliver being a widower and Austin an only child. And now from everything she’d heard, Austin, who was single, had no family left.