THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (34 page)

“I thought that stupid list she left with Nicholas would be enough to keep the law busy,” Helen complained. “Now
I
have to straighten out everything. It’s okay for Brandon to go to jail, but it has to be later, not immediately. I haven’t finished siphoning off his secret accounts yet.”

“You’re stealing from
him?” I squeaked. “Surely he’s too good an accountant to miss that happening.”

“He doesn’t have the paperwork sent to the house. He has an apartment he thinks I don’t know about. It all goes there and of course he’s avoiding it like poison.” She stopped herself and then laughed, quite jolly sounding. “Get it? Poison?” When we didn’t look properly am
used, she continued. “Anyway, I’m free to come and go. Nobody suspects me. Why should they? I’m nothing.” She looked at us expectantly, but again we didn’t respond. “That’s what you all thought, isn’t it? You’re surprised that it was me all along, but it was. I was the one who needed a little more time, and I needed a diversion to be absolutely sure Brandon didn’t dare go to his secret little hideaway and check out his records. You didn’t know that I was an accountant when we met, but I was. A good one, too. I still keep all the household accounts.”

While she chatted along, I slowly eased my way toward her, stopping when she looked my way. She realized what I was doing and kept her attention steadily on me, the others in her peripheral vision. She started opening the cap to the gas can, a little awkwardly, but still not losing sight of her intended victims.

When it finally got through my thick skull that the can contained gas—duh—she had already started sprinkling it around, rather wildly. Unfortunately, just as I was about to make my move, something touched my ankle. It threw me off, even as my mind registered that it was Eloise deciding to join us after all. My movement brought Helen’s eyes to the little rat, and she screeched. “That damned rat! I had to sit there all that evening, knowing that thing was right nearby. I hate them. Here! Take a taste of this, Rat!” She splashed gas right at Eloise. Most of it hit my legs. She threw down the can and held up a lighter all in one movement.

I leaped at her, but I was way too late. Dora beat me to her.

Unfortunately, neither of us stopped her from getting the lighter lit.
The gas really did make a whoosh noise. I jumped to my feet and pushed the can away from the flames. It all was happening in a few seconds, but it seemed like slow motion. I knew I was on fire, as was Helen. Dora had a few flickers as she got to her knees and started to crawl after Eloise. The rat, however, was long gone. Why we think we’re the brightest species is sometimes beyond my understanding.

I dropped back down and curled into a ball, rolling back and forth to put out the fire. Stop, drop and roll. It’s really hard to do when you’re in a panic, but it worked. Of course it helped that Moondance, bless her heart, had swept o
ff her second most beloved cape and draped it over my lower legs where the gasoline had soaked me. It was definitely made of good material. It smothered the fire immediately.

Aunt Myrtle, meanwhile, had wisely gone for one of the fire extinguishers that Dora kept handy. I’d beaten
out the bit that had caught my hair out by the time she got there, so she used it around the floor of the shop, making sure every spark was dead.

Dora, other than a few singed spots, hadn’t been affected by the fire, and she had managed to spot her baby safely hidden from danger. It amazed me that the little rat responded to her calls and crept out, scared but trusting. That, along with the smoke, brought tears to my eyes.

Unfortunately, while we pulled ourselves together mentally and physically, so had Helen. She had staggered to her feet, still flickering here and there, and made a run for the back door. My aunt followed along, fire extinguisher at the ready. We heard the sound of their feet and then the slamming of the big door.

By then I was on my feet, ready to follow, but Dora, sitting with her rat in her arms, reminded me that it would be smarter to call the sheriff. I agreed, once I caught sight of Aunt Myrtle returning alone, checking along the way for any signs of fire.

It wasn’t until after the sheriff had arrived with his troops that I noticed my reflection in the huge fish tank that housed Eloise during the day. I stifled a choking gasp. David, who had seemingly responded to a psychic message that I was in trouble, was already there, holding me and demanding that I get checked out for my burns. He realized I’d seen my reflection and his concerned face twisted. I’d like to believe that it was pity and empathy for me, but I had a horrible feeling he was holding back a chuckle.

Sheriff
Alberts, once he got our stories more or less straightened out, agreed with David that I should be taken to the hospital. I didn’t argue. I was hurting pretty badly by then, the protection of the adrenaline rush having faded. The fire department rechecked for any signs of potential fire, shook their collective heads at the shop’s potential for a conflagration, and disappeared out the back to check for any danger from wild fire. I shuddered to think of Helen being the torch they had in mind.

I was lucky. I lost a good pair of jeans, threw away some socks and figured I could salvage my good sneakers. The burns hurt a lot, and I was warned about watching them carefully, ordered to go to my regular doctor the next day for a check under the light bandaging
, but the burns weren’t deep.

Nobody, as the doctor handed me pain killers, bothered to promise me that I wasn’t going to have a long stretch of bad hair days ahead.
In some places, no-hair days.

Prologue

Yet again I hadn’t done a thing to discover the murderer.
Yes, I’d been in at the kill, so to speak, but I hadn’t had a clue who the killer was. I was definitely not meant to be a detective. If there were any clues floating around, I missed them entirely, and my supposedly clever gift hadn’t helped at all. I’d experienced a few short spasms of Helen’s anger. That was it.

The sheriff, on the other hand, had already closed in on the cooking of the books by Brandon. While we prowled around the outskirts of the case, the sheriff had been honing in on the real money motive. Eventually they would no doubt have realized that Brandon wasn’t the only one who was involved, despite him having no idea what his wife was up to. When the money had disappeared yet a second time, the field would be drastically narrowed.

I guess, in a small way, both the fortune telling and my reputed gift of psychic powers shortened the case. Helen, truly impressed by Moondance’s skill, worried about whether or not it would work if the one being read wasn’t present. Could Moondance look into her magic crystal ball and see the image of the killer? Would I read her mind?

It was a case of the guilty fleeing when no one pursued them. The more she thought, the more outrageous the potential dangers she envisioned. It would have made a good plot for a Poe tale.
She thought herself into dementia.

They found her without much trouble. They used dogs to track her down, finding her cowering in some bushes not half a mile from the shop. By the time they reached her, she was back to her babbling self, only this time it was on the other side of
the line of sanity. Most of what she ranted about was connected with witches and rats and damnation. I have no idea how much of it was pretend. She was a pretty good actress.

Nicholas, I found out, had apparently handed over the list of names, complete with the amounts
his wife wanted given, to his lawyer. If he’d had time to think, perhaps he would have handled things differently, but his relief was overwhelming enough to carry the gesture through—with the exception of Brandon. He drew a line through the accountant’s name.

Dora’s shop carried the scent of smudged fire for a week or so, but it might have been my imagination that smelled it. The fortune telling booth was back up and running, even more popular than before. Ralph, who had conveniently (for him) disappeared during the conflict, was back doing his part during the few hours Moondance told fortunes, but he turned up regularly at my shop, too.

We were all extremely nice to each other, as is often the case with people who have gone through a crisis together.

Jimbo
had given up and given his wife her head again. Mac was growing a little belly from all the goodies my aunt fixed for him, Dora continued to dote on her rat, and Eloise seemingly came through the ordeal without being traumatized.

As for me, I actually got to spend some major time with David.
My psychic abilities? I don’t know. They’re definitely still there, and seem to be getting stronger again. Maybe it was a good thing I’d had the loss for a while, because after a lifetime of trying to smother them, I found that when it worked, I really missed them.

I guess, when it came right down to it, my gift was as much a part of me as my arms or legs. It was, in a weird way, part of the family.