One Potion in the Grave: A Magic Potion Mystery (19 page)

Had Lyla been right? That Katie Sue never knew when to walk away? After all, she’d resorted to extorting Warren Calhoun.

Katie Sue had said she was fighting for love, and as I stood here, I recalled something I’d said to Gabi the day I’d met her.

Sometimes wanting something so badly makes you forget right from wrong. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

Katie hadn’t forgotten right from wrong. She knew exactly what she’d been doing, and had been willing to take the risk for the man she loved.

As I looked around this empty office, at the chair that would never be sat in again, at the diplomas that would never again be put to use . . . I thought about Warren. If he’d killed her to cover up their affair, I didn’t know if
love
had been worth the cost.

But maybe to Katie Sue it had been.

I had to admit that Katie Sue hadn’t been perfect.

I thought she had been. With her stunning
transformation, but again, that had been superficial. Deep down, it turned out that Katie Sue had been as flawed as the rest of us.

I had to remember that. And also keep in mind that no matter the questionable things she’d done, she hadn’t deserved the death penalty.

In the living room, light filtered through curtain sheers as I looked around. I poked around bookcases, and when I opened a wooden box, I found a stack of old letters tied with a pink ribbon.

The letters she’d sent to Jamie Lynn—the ones Lyla had sent back. “Return to Sender” was written in bold script on every envelope. Without hesitation, I slipped the letters into my bag. I figured it was long past time Jamie Lynn saw them. I’d make sure they were delivered.

Glancing around, I noted that several pictures were missing from the walls—noticeable by the nails and dust outlines left behind. Curiosity killed me. What had been the subject of the photos? Warren and Katie Sue?

It was obvious the Calhoun goons had already been here. Delia and I were wasting our time in looking for evidence. We weren’t going to find anything that linked Katie Sue to the family.

This trip had been a dead end.

Chapter Twenty-four

I
f setting up three hundred chairs had been a nightmare of a job, packing them up was a little taste of hell. It was ninety-four degrees in the shade, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

This witch was melting.

I did have enough sense about me to wear a pair of gloves, though they were now soaked with perspiration and chafing had begun.

Delia and I had made it back to Hitching Post in record time. I’d dropped her off at her shop and had come straight here. Physical activity (and peanut butter) had always helped me work through my troubles, but being here where Katie Sue’s body had been found left me more disturbed than when I arrived.

I loaded two more chairs onto the rolling rack. A perimeter of police tape cordoned off the gazebo. It was a bright yellow reminder that there weren’t always happily-ever-afters. Mama was beside herself to get that tape removed, the gazebo bleached, and erase any signs that
something horrible had happened here. She had four weddings lined up on Sunday, and was worrying that the brides would take one look at that tape and bail.

Short term, it was a valid concern.

Long term, this incident was bound to be forgotten. And if it wasn’t completely, it would be written off as a fluke crime. A love affair gone wrong or a family dispute that got out of hand. Explanations that potential couples could nod their heads at and murmur “that’s too bad” and happily go on with their own plans. The crime didn’t affect them. Their dreams.

As I snapped another chair closed, leaned it on my hip, and reached for another, I recalled something Katie Sue had said the day before.

“Give it a week and no one will even remember I was here.”

She’d been talking about after she left town to go home . . . but the truth was, except for a few, like Jamie Lynn and me, she
would
be forgotten soon.

The realization made me so sad, I staggered a bit.

“You might want to sit yourself down on one of those seats before you pass out from heat exhaustion.”

I glanced up and found Ainsley striding toward me, her short legs working double time. I put the two chairs on the rack and glanced at what I had left. Twenty at most. “I just want to get it done.”

“Your mama’s lucky to have you,” she said, handing over an iced coffee from Dèjá Brew. My friends and family knew me well.

“I plan to remind her every day for the rest of my life.” I took the cup. “Thank you. This is a lifesaver.”

Ainsley snapped a chair closed and set it on the
ground. “I went by Potions to see you and was surprised it was locked up.”

“Crazy day.”

“You should have called me to cover the shop.”

“I hate imposing on your day off.”

“Carly Bell Hartwell, what are best friends for if not imposing?”

Unexpected tears filled my eyes.

“What’s that?” she asked, squinting. “Stop it right now. Stop. It,” she said in her sternest mother voice. Then added, “Damn,” as her eyes welled too. We could never cry around each other without the other tearing up, too. It was an emotional connection I couldn’t quite explain.

“Sorry,” I said, inhaling deeply. “There are just some days you really appreciate what you have.”

“Some
weeks
,” she corrected. She then got in my face and asked, “Is my mascara running?”

“No. Is mine?” I joked, leaning down.

Tipping her head back, she laughed. “It hightailed out of here hours ago by the looks of you. You look plumb tuckered out.”

I loved her laugh. It was so infectious that I found myself smiling despite my gloomy mood.

She snapped two more chairs closed and added them to her stack on the ground. “After I saw the shop was closed, I was headed to your place when I ran into your mama, who told me you were here.”

I slurped mocha-flavored deliciousness. “What’s going on? Did you find something out about Travis Jameson?”

“Damnedest thing about him,” she said. “All anyone remembers is that it was an accidental death. A freak accident but an accident.”

It had been freak. Travis had been working on the back axle of his truck and had taken off the two back tires and jacked the truck up to work underneath it. Somehow the jack didn’t hold, and the back end of the truck had fallen to the ground, crushing him.

I suppose if someone had tampered with the jack . . . it could have been murder. But why wouldn’t Lyla have said something before now?

“But that’s not why I came,” she said, setting another chair in her pile. She then bent down, lifted all six chairs and carried them to the rack and slid them into place.

I stared. “Are you Wonder Woman?”

She said, “Years of practice at the church hall.”

I was still in awe. “You need a cape.”

“I’ll leave the capes to Delia.” Her cheeks flushed. “For now.”

I didn’t think I wanted to know about the flush. I was already traumatized by the kissy noises Carter made.

“Anyhow, I heard you were planning to meet with Jimmy at the Delphinium tonight.”

I didn’t even question how she knew. Being the preacher’s wife was like she had wiretaps all over town. Direct access to all the latest news.

I took another sip and glanced down at myself. “I should probably go home and change first.”

She made quick work of three more chairs and barely broke a sweat. “Don’t bother. He’s not there.”

“What? Where is he?” I had the sudden, horrifying image of the Calhouns bumping him off to keep him quiet.

“Shady Hollow. Got himself a job at a fancy country club down there. Making quadruple what he makes here.
And his mama got a job there as well. They left a couple hours ago.”

“The Calhouns bought him off.” It was better than bumping him off, I had to admit, but it was going to be much harder to get any information out of him now. Not with the Calhouns’ deep pockets helping his whole family.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Not your fault. Those Calhouns always seem to be one step ahead of us.”

“It’s probably why they’re so dang successful.”

Probably, but I’d tell Dylan about Jimmy anyway. Maybe he could get him to talk somehow. But I doubted it. He had little to gain by helping us, and everything to gain by helping the Calhouns.

Ainsley stuck around to help me roll the chairs to the storage shed behind Mama’s cottage before she set off for home.

I’d crossed the footbridge and was just headed into the chapel to help Mama figure out what to do with all the flowers when my witchy senses sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, scanning the landscape. Mama’s cottage, the shed, the back of the chapel, the woods . . . I didn’t see anything, but I was on guard as I picked up my pace.

“Hey!” someone shouted.

I turned and saw Cletus Cobb pop out of the woods like a rabid raccoon. He swaggered toward me, his shorts drooping, his tank dingy. Gooseflesh popped out on my arms as I wondered how long he’d been in there, watching me.

“What do you want?” It was never anything good when he was concerned.

He kept coming toward me, like he was planning to
get as close to my face as Ainsley had been when she asked me to inspect her makeup. I held out my arm. “You can stop right there.”

“Why?” he asked, sneering. Greasy hair hung to his shoulders, and spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. “You scared of me?”

“Should I be?” I asked.

The question seemed to throw him off, and thankfully, he stopped about two feet away. Enough for me to catch a whiff of his horrendous body odor. He had the same glassy eyes as Dinah had earlier, and again I wondered what they were on. Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“That depends,” he snarled.

“On what?” I was dirty. I was tired. And I was pretty sure I smelled as badly as he did.
Mercy.
My patience was worn thin, and the less time I spent around this cretin the better.

He jabbed a finger toward me. “On you. If’n you keep buttin’ into my business, I’m gonna have to do something about it.”

“What business is that?” I asked. “The drug business? Because I don’t want any part of that. The business where you killed your son-in-law for insurance money? That’s being covered by the police who’re reopening the case. The business of you stalking Katie Sue? Yeah, I have some questions about that.”

Rage infused his face, his coloring going from sickly yellow to scarlet, his lips twisting into a grimace, his eyes narrowing on a target.

Me.

Just as he was about to lunge forward, a torrent of
water blasted him in the head, knocking him sideways from the shock. He gasped and sputtered as Mama raced forward, dragging the hose along with her as she kept it aimed on Cletus. She soaked him head to toe as she shouted, “Get your sorry self off my property, Cletus Cobb, and don’t you ever think of coming back!”

He snorted, trying to keep his nose out of the stream as he scrabbled for footing. Finally, he stumbled forward, and Mama blasted him in the ass. He took off sprinting toward the woods, hitching up his pants as he went.

I watched him go as Mama shut off the water. For all his faults, the man was fast as a jackrabbit.

“Shoo-ee!”
Mama cried. She turned to me and pulled me into a hug, sweat and all. “Are you all right, baby girl?”

I smiled as she squeezed the life out of me. “I am now.”

She finally let me go. “
Pshaw.
You probably could have taken him.”

Probably. Maybe. “I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.”

“Well, you know your mama’s always there for you when you need her most.”

I knew. For all my mama’s craziness and antics, I knew that I could always count on her.

“Lordy, that man fell straight out of the ugly tree—”

“Hitting every branch on the way down,” I said, finishing the saying. It was sure enough true. He was . . . disgusting.

“That’s right.” Smiling, she wrapped an arm around my waist as she led me to the front of the chapel. Suddenly, she hooted, laughing. “Did you see his face when the water hit him?”

I wished I could laugh, but it was too soon to find humor in the situation. Maybe tomorrow.

She swiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “Probably hasn’t seen the likes of water in some time.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “He needs a bath but bad.”

She glanced up at me, then tipped her head and pointedly said, “He isn’t the only.”

I laughed. “I love you, Mama.”

“Love you, too, baby girl. Now let’s get you cleaned up, and you can call that hunky Dylan about this little dustup.”

As I followed her into the chapel, I thought Dylan might also want to know about how well Cletus could run. It might be time to get a search warrant for that junky trailer near the river. Because after Cletus’s display of running skills, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he owned some black jogging gear.