Spelling Mistake (The Kitchen Witch Book 4) (9 page)

We both thanked her, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Jackpot!” Thyme exclaimed as soon as we were out of earshot. “Let’s go to the nearest café and google any old news story about it.”

I unlocked the car and jumped in. “There probably isn’t anything about it,” I said once Thyme was in the car, too, “given that she wasn’t even charged.”

Thyme fastened her seatbelt. “Well, we can eat, surely? I’m starved. It won’t hurt to google while we’re stuffing our faces. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

We soon found a cafe on the Hastings River. To our delight, there were tables right by the water.

“We can relax and have a good lunch,” Thyme said. “Penny already tried to kill Scott once. You know what that means?”

“No,” I said. I was busy looking at the menu. “Look, they have organic wine. I can’t have any because I’m driving,” I said as a hint.

“Sorry, Amelia, but I can’t drive back. I know they say people only get carsick if they’re passengers, but I actually get really bad if I’m driving. I’d drive if I could, but I can’t, not around winding roads. Anyway, my treat for lunch, to make up for you driving all the way.”

I thanked her, and then added, “Anyway, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that the detectives would have no idea that she already tried to kill Scott once. We’ll have to tell them.”

“But we know that there’s no evidence against her, because she wasn’t charged,” I said, running my finger down on the menu, “as much as I’d like the murderer to be Penny and not Fred.”

Thyme was unperturbed. “That doesn’t matter. They can question her nosy neighbor. Besides, surely it’s on record that Scott called the police, even if they didn’t take any action. There would have to be a police report. Anyway, what are you having to eat? And your usual coffee?”

Thyme went to pay, while I looked at my iPad. As I expected, I couldn’t find a thing about Penny trying to run over Scott. I couldn’t find much on the woman at all. She had a Facebook account, but no Instagram or Snapchat, not even Twitter. The privacy settings on her Facebook account were high, so that was no help, either.

I told Thyme as soon as she returned to the table. “No matter,” she said. “At least we have something to tell the police. You know, the people in Port Macquarie are all super nice. It must be the sea air. They’re all so happy. Weird, isn’t it!” Before I could reply, she added, “Well, I’m sure it’s her. She’s the murderer. Penny killed her ex-husband.”

Chapter 18

It was a long drive home. Thyme wasn’t as sick on the return journey, so we made good time, and arrived well before the Bayberry Creek Police Station closed for the day. We had worked on our cover story on the way.

The detectives were out, but Sergeant Tinsdell and Constable Dawson said they’d pass on a message. Thyme launched straight into her story. “Amelia and I took the day off and went to Port Macquarie. We happened to run into a neighbor of Penny Plank’s, and she told us that Penny hit Scott with her car last year.”

“That’s right,” I said. “The neighbor said that Scott called the police, but Penny wasn’t charged. She broke his leg in three places. There has to be a police report on file.”

Sergeant Tinsdell did not seem at all pleased to receive the information, although Constable Dawson, on the other hand, seemed mighty pleased to see Thyme. “Port Macquarie’s a lovely place,” Dawson said to Thyme, ignoring me. I might as well not have been there. “I was stationed there for a year. I’d love to go back again soon.”

Tinsdell cleared his throat loudly, and Dawson shuffled uncomfortably. “I hope you two weren’t snooping into police matters,” Tinsdell barked. “I didn’t know you girls knew Mrs. Plank.”

“We don’t,” Thyme said. “Well, we have to leave now that we’ve given you the information. We have a baking deadline.”

We hurried out of the police station and got in the car. I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder. “You were right, Thyme! I really didn’t think that would work. I expected Tinsdell would call us back.”

Thyme giggled. “How about I go and fill Ruprecht and the others in on what’s happened? You should go straight home to bed. After all, you were the one doing all the driving. Don’t forget, Camino’s yard sale is tomorrow, and she wants us all to help out.”

I groaned. “I
will
go straight to bed. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“And don’t open the door to Penny Plank. I mean it! Murderers always seem to end up at your house.”

“I won’t.” Thyme narrowed her eyes, so I added, “Seriously! I won’t.”

I was ravenous, but I was too tired to go and wait in line for take-out. My back was sore again for the first time in a few days, no doubt from all the driving. I wanted to do nothing more than take a long hot bath, lie on the couch, and stare at the ceiling.

I opened the door to the sound of battle. It was no surprise—the house was still watching the
Game of Thrones
marathon. Just what I didn’t need, more war scenes. I was in the mood for a good romantic comedy.

After I fed Willow and Hawthorn who made it abundantly clear they wouldn’t leave me alone until I fed them, I ran a bath. On Saturday nights I was in the habit of having a jinx-breaking bath, one into which I’d poured sea salt, Epsom salts, and uncrossing herbs such as rue, hyssop, and lemongrass. I normally bathed between two candles and then air dried myself, but tonight I just didn’t have the energy. I just threw in a handful of sea salt and a handful of agrimony and hoped for the best.

I was relaxed, lying with my eyes closed, when I had the feeling I was being watched. I opened my eyes to see Hawthorn and Willow sitting on the edge of the bath, staring at me. It was rather unnerving, to say the least. “Shoo!” I said, but that, of course, had no effect. They were cats, after all, so they weren’t going to do anything I wanted them to do.

The long hot bath refreshed me. I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but it did. I went into my bedroom to put on my pajamas, but decided to look through my closet to find items to donate to the yard sale. After all, it was for charity. I threw a few things on the pile, and then spied my old cocktail dress. It was black, clingy, and oh-so-tight. I loved that dress, but I had no idea if it still fitted. Oh well, there was one way to find out. If it didn’t, I’d give it to Camino to sell.

The dress went over my shoulders okay, but that’s when things got difficult. I managed, after a bit of struggle, to pull it over my hips. I reached for the zip, which didn’t want to move freely at all. I tugged and tugged at it, but it got stuck half-way. I turned my back to the mirror to see how to free it, and that’s when I screamed.

I had back cleavage.

The cats ran in to see what the emergency was. “I have back cleavage,” I informed them, but they didn’t care. “How did it happen?” I asked my reflection. It certainly wasn’t from my own cooking. Perhaps I’d been eating too many cupcakes. Or perhaps the dress had shrunk. That was more a cheerful thought.

I tried to get it off, but the zip wouldn’t budge. I went into the kitchen to get scissors. I’d have to cut it off. While I was looking for the scissors, there was a knock on the door. My heart beat out of my chest. Was it Penny Plank, here to kill me? The house had let her knock, but perhaps the house wanted us to play Arya Stark versus the Waif.

I ran back into my room and grabbed my phone. If it was Penny, then I’d call the police rather than letting her in. I crept to the front door. “Hello?” I said nervously.

“Hello, it’s me,” said a man’s voice.

“Alder?” I opened the door.

He stared at my dress. “Are you on your way out?’

“No.”

“Do you have guests?’

I shook my head. “No.”

Alder frowned. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” I said once more.

“You’re wearing an evening dress.”

“Yes.” I figured I should explain why I was in the dress, but I didn’t know where to start. “Please come in.” I backed away so he wouldn’t see my back cleavage. I backed all the way into the living room. “Please sit down.” I was pleased that the house had turned off the TV.

“I’ve brought you take-out and a bottle of wine. I don’t have time to stay and eat, but I won’t refuse a small glass of wine, and then I’ll leave you alone to rest. I know you must be tired after that long drive up and down the mountain.”

I felt like a started wombat caught in the headlights. “How, how did you know?” I stuttered.

Alder placed the bottle of wine and the take-out on the table, and sat on the couch. “Penny called me and told me that two women were asking questions about her.”

I felt silly for not even considering that. “You didn’t tell her it was us?”

“No. Anyway, she assumed it was a couple of detectives.”

I sat down. There was a loud ripping sound. At least the zip had worked its way free, to look on the bright side. “That was my dress,” I said stupidly.

Alder nodded. I thought his mouth twitched, but I wasn’t sure.

“Camino has a yard sale tomorrow, so I was trying on my old clothes to see if they still fitted.”

Alder nodded again.

“Um, I’ll just go and change,” I said. I stood up and backed out of the room. Once I was in the hall and out of sight, I turned and hurried to my room. I ripped off the damaged dress and replaced it with jeans and a crossover jersey top. At least now I could breathe deeply. “What is
he
doing here?” I whispered to Hawthorn who was sprawled on my bed. “Not that I’m complaining!”

I went to the kitchen to fetch wine glasses before returning to the dining room.

Alder spoke first. “Penny is my client. I know she didn’t do it.”

“She seems the obvious suspect,” I said, while Alder poured the wine.

“I’m sure Penny isn’t sorry in the least that Scott’s dead,” Alder said, “but if she was going to kill him, she would’ve done it years ago. Besides, you’ve seen her. She’s slender. She wouldn’t have the strength to strangle Scott.”

I sipped the wine before speaking. “Maybe she hired a hitman.”

Alder smiled. “If she hired a hitman, then she would’ve made sure she had an alibi. More to the point, she wouldn’t have been in town the day Scott was murdered.”

Well, duh! That was obvious
, I thought.
I didn’t think that one through
. Aloud I said, “Do the police think it’s her?”

Alder shook his head. “No, they don’t. Have you seen the haint lately?”

My stomach clenched. “Why, do you think the haint murdered Scott?”

“I don’t think it was the haint,” Alder said carefully. “I think it was a human, a man, but I don’t know why he chose your store to murder Scott. Penny was in town that day. She had an appointment with me. She wanted me to find out anything I could, any dirt on Scott, because he’d applied to the court for access to see the children. He hadn’t wanted to see them for years.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The timing does make her seem suspect, you must admit.”

Alder shrugged. “Like I said, she’d have made sure she was out of town if she’d arranged to have him murdered.” He downed his wine and then stood up.

I stood up, too.

“Amelia, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll come straight out and say it. You’re in danger. I did a divination.”

I was struck speechless. “Me?” I managed to say.

Alder took both my hands in his. “Amelia, promise me you’ll be careful.”

And then, with a swish of his long black coat, he was gone.

I stared after him, wondering why he hadn’t kissed me this time. Had he only kissed me at his apartment because Fred had made him? I was now even more certain that this was the case.

Chapter 19

I woke up and stretched. As soon as Willow and Hawthorn saw my eyes open, both walked up the bed and peered at me, and commenced their cacophony of loud meowing. This was our regular morning routine. It would be nice to have some time in bed to wake up properly, but I don’t think anyone who had a cat would have that luxury.

I reluctantly climbed out of bed, put on my fake Ugg boots that I’d bought on sale at Payless, and then staggered to the kitchen.

I filled two bowls, and the cats ate as if they were starving. I noted that their bowl of dry food was half full, so I put a little more in it. Willow stopped eating his food and dived on the dry food. “There was already plenty in there,” I informed him. “This is a Sunday, and humans like to sleep in on a Sunday morning.”

The cats kept eating as if I had said nothing of interest.

As I switched on the coffee machine, I lamented the fact that I’d had no time to come into my own as a Dark Witch, whatever that expression meant. I had intended to try to figure it out, but life kept getting in the way.

I took my coffee and went into the living room, where I stretched out on the couch, grateful that the house wasn’t watching
Game of Thrones
at this time of day. I suppose even the house liked to sleep on a Sunday morning.

I half intended to fall back to sleep, when I remembered what day it was. Camino’s yard sale. My Dark Witchy self would have to wait. I groaned and then downed the rest of my coffee in one gulp.

When I arrived at Camino’s, caffeine-fueled and clutching my clothing donations, I saw a big sign adorning the lawn:
All money going to charity - The Parachute Widows
. I winced at the thought of all those poor men falling to their death. Sure, I have an active imagination, but the image was just too gruesome. I knew that parachuting wasn’t a safe sport, of course, but I had no idea that sufficient men were killed doing it to warrant a charity for their widows.

Camino was already serving customers, so I arranged my clothes donations as best I could. I was pleased to see Thyme arrive. I’d told her she could park at my house to leave room for the yard sale customers to park outside Camino’s house. “Ruprecht agrees that Penny’s the killer,” Thyme said by way of greeting, and then yawned loudly.

I yawned, too. “I don’t think she is. Alder told me why she was in town that day. She’s a client of his, and he said she definitely didn’t do it.”

Thyme raised her eyebrows and stared at me. “What? When did he tell you that?”

“He came over last night.”

Thyme’s eyebrows rose even higher. “He did? Did you…”

I interrupted her. “Of course not! I hardly know him.”

“Not as well as you’d like to.” Thyme winked at me.

I playfully swatted her with the leg of my old jeans. I didn’t mind being teased—after all, that was far better than her having an attitude to Alder. She certainly seemed to be warming to him. And he had been quite warm to me, but had he only kissed me because I’d wished he would? I just had to get some more time to figure out this whole thing.

“Ruprecht is still looking into other suspects, though.”

I nodded. I was pleased about that. It would make things really awkward if Ruprecht and the others insisted that Penny was the killer, when Alder insisted that she wasn’t.

Camino hurried over to us. “Would you two serve the drinks and food?”

We both said that we would. In fact, we’d already agreed to do so, which is why I’d donated several trays of cupcakes. “Thyme and I will go fetch the cupcakes,” I told her. Camino thanked me profusely. “I always like to help out a charity,” I said. “I had no idea that parachuting is responsible for so many deaths.”

Camino looked blank. “What do you mean?”

It was my turn to be confused. “I mean your charity, of course,
The Parachute Widows
, the wives of men who died parachuting,” I added to spell it out.

Camino’s jaw dropped. “Oh Amelia, you’re just too funny,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s not for that! No, it’s for women whose husbands are too obsessed with parachuting. You know, like football widows.” Camino chuckled again.

I looked at Thyme, but she shrugged.

Camino kept talking. “I’ve assigned you and Thyme the job of making non-alcoholic cocktails with little umbrellas in them, since you’ll be doing the food anyway. Umbrellas are the closest things to parachutes. Oh, look, another customer!” Camino rubbed her hands together with glee and hurried away.

I turned to Thyme. “I’m shocked that it could be a registered charity. Was Camino joking?”

Thyme shook her head. “Sadly, I don’t think she is. I’m not saying she’s right, though. Maybe she’s confused.”

I didn’t know whether or not I hoped she
was
confused. I didn’t want lots of men to die parachuting, but the alternative was surely not charity-worthy. I shrugged and gestured to the trestle table. “Oh well, let’s get set up.”

We hadn’t finished setting up before the first customers arrived. Both of us had to serve, and we still hadn’t made the non-alcoholic cocktails. At the first break in customers, Thyme gathered the ingredients. “Amelia, I should make them and you can put the umbrellas in.”

I agreed it was a safer option. I was sure I was better at making drinks than baking, but it was best not to take the risk. We worked together and soon had an array of dazzling cocktails, all strangely in plastic cups and adorned by multi-colored umbrellas. We finished just in time, because about ten cars arrived at once.

As the crowd walked onto Camino’s lawn, it seemed they all spied the cupcakes and cocktails at once. The people as one group headed straight for us.

Just as I readied myself to serve them, the umbrellas left the cocktails and rose into the air. Everyone gasped. The umbrellas hovered for a moment around head height, and then rose even higher. I hadn’t even felt a breeze, let alone a strong wind.

Thyme clutched my arm. “What’s happening?”

I had no clue, but then I noticed a man standing in front of me, smiling at me. He was wearing one of those novelty spinning bow ties. “Fred!” I exclaimed.

“Make him stop,” Thyme said urgently.

“Fred, stop!” I said. “Fred, I wish you’d stop.”

My words had no effect, and Fred continued to smile at me as the umbrellas rose ever higher. Without warning, they all floated to the ground in unison, and broke apart upon contact.

“I get it,” a teenager said. “Cool! They were meant to be parachutes, weren’t they? Very clever. How did you do that?”

“Magnets,” I said, hoping the guy wasn’t a physics student and would press me for details. Luckily, people simply stepped up to the table to buy cocktails that were now minus their umbrellas.

“I’m sure I didn’t say the W word this time!” I hissed at Thyme.

Thyme agreed. “I’m certain you didn’t. This means he’s getting worse. This is pretty bad, Amelia.”

“I know,” I said grimly.

“Do something! I’ll look after the customers.”

I walked away from the crowd, over to my fence, against the tall eucalyptus tree on the border of my land and Camino’s. I was hoping Fred would follow me so I could talk to him, but he mingled with the crowd.

This was it—I couldn’t put it off any longer. Everyone had told me that now was the time to be coming to my powers, so I would have to make it a priority. Matters were escalating, and who knows what Fred would do next.

I was by myself. I had no candles, crystals, or herbs. I didn’t have my wand. I just had myself. All I could do was summon the magic within me.

I stood still and closed my eyes, and tried to feel the pulse of the earth running through me. First I felt nothing, then I felt a little spark, a hint of something. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t focus on that. Instead, I let it build. As I felt the power rising within me, I focused on Fred stopping what he was doing, and going away.

I could say a surge of power pulsed through me, but it wasn’t quite that. It was as if I had settled into something. I opened my eyes, and Fred had vanished.

Thyme hurried over to me. “He just went, like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“Did anyone else see?”

Thyme shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was at the back of the crowd.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“How did you do it?”

“You know how you want a parking place somewhere where it’s unlikely that you’d get one, and you hold it with your mind just so, and then you get it?”

Thyme stared at me. “You can do that?”

“Yes, can’t everyone?”

“No! How long have you been able to do that?”

“For as long as I can remember.” I didn’t know why she was so shocked. “Anyway, it was the same feeling as that. I held it with my mind just so—it’s hard to explain—and the umbrellas stopped, and then Fred vanished.”

“Has he gone for good?”

I shook my head. “No. Don’t ask me how I know, but he hasn’t.” That was next on my To Do list.