A Cauldron of Witch Tricks Read online

  “No doubt,” Keith said. “From what we took into evidence, there’s a long list. Which is why you attempting to clear your name would only complicate things more. I don’t want to give a defense attorney any leverage.”

  She dropped in a couple bulbs and covered them with soil. “Well, there’s still the locked room thing. I’m telling you, I’ve read a zillion locked room mysteries. You could use my help.”

  “Sorry, Nann, no can do. You’re still the sheriff’s prime suspect.”

  “Because I’m the latest blackmail attempt?”

  “That and other mitigating factors.”

  Nann looked up from her work. “Mitigating factors?”

  “It’s pretty common knowledge that you didn’t like Simmons and his whole redevelopment partnership.”

  “Is it common knowledge that they’re a bunch of crooks?” She stabbed the earth again, making holes that were way too deep.

  “It is. We’ve received reports about Simmons for years. Never could pin anything on him. Given the fact that if he won the election, he’d be involved in department budgeting and procedures, well, we were all a little nervous.”

  “Because of the really good dirt he had on his victims?” Nann refilled the holes some. Bulbs went in.

  “He had his fingers in more pies than personal blackmail. The department suspected him of voter fraud, of shady antiques dealing, perhaps even fencing. That’s not the kind of guy you want dictating policy to law enforcement.”

  “So there’s a long list of people who wanted to do him in.” Nann dug some more. “And someone popped into a locked room and did away with him.”

  “Like magic,” Keith said.

  Her hand stopped in mid-scoop. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Is that another mitigating factor?”

  “People around here are more savvy about magic than you might think.” Keith shrugged. “Live here long enough, and you just kinda become aware.”

  Nann stood, brushing off her bib-alls. “Funny. I’ve always tried to keep the magic stuff on the down low.”

  “You’re Nancy’s great-niece. People know about Aunt Nancy. She was a prominent figure around here.”

  Aunt Nancy was the unofficial Arch Druid. Between the huge seasonal celebrations, wicker man burnings, and the daily ceremonial workings, Nann doubted she would go unnoticed in Port Argent. In Brooklyn, Aunt Nancy had gone completely unnoticed. But by that point, the doctors had already diagnosed Nancy with dementia. She kinda got lost in the general crazy of New York City.

  “Bottom line—don’t get mixed up in this, Nann.”

  The real bottom line, though unspoken, was...no more dating until Nann was no longer the prime suspect.

  Chapter 6

  Since what itty bit of social life she led had vaporized, Nann decided to get cleaned up and go into town. Cricket took the wheel as they headed down the Bluff Road. Leaves blazed in the trees, cool dry fires of color. Against a white-blue sky, Nann gave herself a moment to enjoy the nature she worshiped. This part of Upstate New York sure was pretty in Autumn.

  Her sense of well-being and calm fell away the moment she walked into the convenience store on Main. Conversation drew to a halt, replaced by the air brakes of whispers. People she didn’t know were giving her hard stares. Others simply walked briskly out.

  Feeling the spotlight of derision, she tiptoed to the counter, impulse-bought some Little Debbie cakes and the newspaper. The cashier gazed at Nann’s items for a long moment.

  “Lots of other places you can buy Little Debbies and a paper.”

  Nann understood completely, yet the words leapt out of her. “Excuse me?”

  “We all know what you done to that poor man.”

  Face flushing, Nann raised her voice. “What have I done to what poor man?”

  Most of the shoppers looked away. Some leaned in for a better dose of schadenfreude.

  The forty-something cashier lifted her chin and adjusted her red convenience store uniform hat. Strands of mouse gray hair sprung from the front. “All I’m saying is that you’re driving our customers away.”

  “Consider me one more customer driven off. “ Nann whirled on her heel and stalked out without tripping or fumbling with the door. Haughty exit: accomplished.

  She drove Cricket up the street to the supermarket. Lines were longer, the store bigger, but Little Debbies and the newspaper were practically in the same spot. The place was pretty busy on a Sunday after church.

  Nann avoided the express checkout. It never seemed very express. There was a lane with only one shopper ahead of her. This was not an old person, so Nann ducked into line. A few minutes later, she stood face to face with Meg from the other night. “Hey, Meg, long time no see.”

  Meg’s face went a little pale and a lot blank. “Will that be all for you.”

  “Yeah. These are for me, not my pig. The paper’s for Pokey. He likes to keep current.”

  Meg didn’t crack a smile. Looking away, she scraped Nann’s items over the scanner. They dropped in a plastic bag with a thump. After Nann pulled out her debit card, the cashier handed her the bag as if she had a dead rat by the tail.

  “Okay, then, have a nice day, Meg.”

  “Please don’t talk to me.” Meg lowered her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want people to think I know you. Not with what happened.”

  Nann stopped. A customer behind her had the belt filled and tapped her foot impatiently. She would not be deterred. “What happened, Meg?”

  “Please just go. Have a nice day. It’s all over town. I don’t want people thinking we know each other. Sorry. Just. Sorry.” Meg turned back to her register and scanned the next woman’s groceries.

  “THAT WAS AWESOME.” Nann dropped her grocery bag on the kitchen island. Without thinking, she unwrapped a Zebra Cake and dropped it in Pokey’s bowl. The pig angled his head in confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” Pokey immediately darted forward and swallowed the dessert cake.

  “Everyone in town is being a jerk. They think I killed Blake Simmons.”

  Pokey chewed the frosting-thick snack loudly, but his voice still came from the radio. “The cops do, too, so...”

  “I get it. People don’t like me in this snooty town. But that doesn’t mean I’m a murderer. And, hey, even if they do think I’m a murderer, they could be more polite about it.”

  “No one ever got hurt by being polite. Could I have the other Little Debbie, please? And thank you.”

  Nann gaped at the second cake in the wrapper. Had she really given one to Pokey? “One for you, one for me.”

  “Can you read me the paper then?”

  Nann started for the living room, Pokey at her heels. “There isn’t much more to the story than we saw on the news already.”

  “I was thinking the funnies, but the top story’s okay.”

  Nann sat on the couch. Pokey jumped up after a few running starts. Nann eyed the ottoman she had placed as a step for the small pig. Pokey hadn’t caught on yet. She read the story to Pokey.

  Blake Simmons left the AMN Golf Tourney early. As president of the organization, he had paperwork to file. His wife remained to hand out trophies.

  “They always look at the wife,” Pokey said. “Too bad she has a better alibi than you.”

  “Totally. I can’t imagine being married to that ass hat.”

  As she’d already heard, a patrol car was in the area, with deputies immediately on the scene. What she didn’t know was that backup was close behind. No one was spotted leaving the house.

  “Maybe he went out the back door,” Pokey mused.

  Nann read: “‘Both of the home’s exits were in clear view of the first responders.’”

  Pokey sat straighter. “Good heavens, Watson. The game’s afoot.”

  “Indeed Holmes.” She read on.

  Simmons’ office, a so-called “panic room,” had to be forced open with a crowbar. Police found Simmons face down on his desk with a battle axe in his back. Police bel
ieve the weapon came from the suit of armor behind the desk.

  “Not much of a panic room if you can open it with a crowbar,” Pokey said.

  “Maybe he was cheap.

  Pokey struggled across the cushions and stared at the paper. Pigs couldn’t read, of course. “Is that the wife?” He poked his snout at a photo.

  Mrs. Simmons had strong bones and an enviable sweep of dark hair. “Yep, that’s her. All alibied up and everything. It goes on to say that the cops took many files from the home into evidence. They wouldn’t comment on whether they indicated a suspect. Of course, I’m sure the copy of the letter he gave to me was sitting on his desk.”

  “Maybe under him.”

  Nann eyed the pig. This was getting morbid. “Well, they don’t play up the fact that Simmons had his blackmail files in all kinds of hidden places. And there’s no real focus on the fact that the sheriff’s department has no idea how the murderer got in and out of the panic room.”

  “The media always misses the good stuff,” Pokey said.

  Sighing, she put the paper down. “Maybe Keith doesn’t want me clearing my name, but I have to do something.”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘this mystery is so mysterious I can’t help myself?’” Pokey held her eyes.

  “Yeah, Okay. That too.”

  “FROM WHAT I GATHER, there were a pile of people who wanted Simmons dead.” Nann sat behind the checkout counter Monday morning. Zinnia hung out with her. There wasn’t a lot of art purchased in Calamity Corners.

  “Well, I sure get that. He knew all about me changing into a... you know.” The petite blonde crossed her arms. “How could he know that? You think he has some kinda magic going on?”

  Nann pouted out her lower lip. “Nah. He’s very anti-magic. Most of the people in Port Argent are.”

  “Then how?”

  “Remember that time we broke into Barb Buford’s house?”

  Zinnia’s brows wrinkled. “No. I put that down to ‘it must have been a bad dream.’”

  Barbara had been one of the group trying to swindle Nann out of her house. Zinnia had changed into an alligator to get through the pet door and let Nann and Tink inside. “Well, what if Barb had a security camera? Maybe he just finds things out, and holds onto the information until he needs it. Needed it. Held. Past tense.”

  “Like some kind of human spider?”

  Nann nodded. “Hey, I like that analogy.”

  “So why didn’t he use it against me? Or why didn’t Barb Buford?”

  “Maybe because you own an art gallery in a depressed town. What would be the benefit?”

  Zinnia made a face. “Oh, thanks a lot, Nann.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “So, since Barb wanted to get you to sell, why didn’t she use her video information as leverage? We’re buds. You wouldn’t want my secret to get out. Right?”

  “Right,” Nann had to agree. “I don’t know. Maybe Simmons was blackmailing her, too. Maybe that’s how he gets more intelligence on people. His victims rat each other out.”

  “Nice.” After a moment, Zinnia’s face lit up. “Hey, if he was blackmailing her, maybe she’s the murderer.”

  Nann nodded. “I have to talk to her. I don’t want to, but I’d better.”

  “You know who you should really talk to is Branden’s friend, Jim.”

  “The guy who helped paint my store?” Jim and Branden had also tried to pignap Pokey. They didn’t know he was her pig at the time. “Why Jim?”

  “He’s Blake Simmons’ half-brother.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, and there was no love lost between them. Something about Jim getting screwed out of an inheritance or something.”

  “Wow,” Nann said. “There’s some motive right there.”

  “Blake produced a will or something. You’ll have to ask Jim,” Zinnia said.

  “You’ve got as much dirt on people around here as Blake Simmons did.” Nann was impressed. “Who else do you have for a suspect?”

  “Eugene Wozniak.”

  Nann knew that name. He was another partner in Lakeshore Properties, and another member of the town council. “Why him?”

  “He’s running for the same county seat as Simmons.”

  “More motive,” Nann said. “Another suspect.”

  “Honestly, we could probably come up with half a dozen suspects just sitting here,” Zinnia said. “You, me, Tink, Wozniak, Jim—”

  “Tom,” Nann said.

  “Tom, our landlord?”

  Nann pressed her lips together and nodded. “He’s mentioned to me that Lakeshore Properties scammed his parents out of their business back in the day.”

  “Then there’s Barb, maybe. That’s more than half a dozen. And those are just the people we know,” Zinnia said.

  “That’s already a lot of people to talk to. I’d better get working on this before we come up with any other likely suspects.”

  Chapter 7

  Jim Simmons was the easiest to find. Zinnia knew that Jim and Branden grabbed a beer after work nearly every day. They headed to Margie’s in Cricket.

  “Oh, look, another nail shop opened up,” Zinnia said. “I haven’t had my nails done in ages.”

  “We should do a girl’s day.” Nann felt a little lighter hearted for a second. Then, she remembered she had no one to get gussied up for until this murder was solved—or at least, she was off the suspect list.

  “But look, a new barber shop, a junk store, ‘coming soon, Sally’s Styling Salon,’” Zinnia read a sign outside a formerly abandoned storefront. “It seems like Calamity Corners isn’t so calamitous anymore.”

  Margie’s was louder and rougher after the workday than it was at lunch. It used to be rough all the time. Things were changing in Amity Corners. People had less reason to drink and fight. Or maybe they were just too busy to hang around a bar all day.

  “Hey, babe.” Branden, over six feet tall and skinny, put an arm around Zinnia, who was extremely short and on the plump side. “What brings you here? Can I buy you a beer?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a beer.” Zinnia climbed up on a bar stool.

  “Don’t you have adult art class at the gallery tonight?” Nann asked.

  “You’re right. Better make it two or three beers.”

  “Hey, Nann,” Jim said as she took a seat on the stool next to him. “How you been?”

  “So-so,” Nann said. “I’m currently a prime suspect in a murder.”

  Jim’s face went dark. “Blake. That son-of-a-bitch. I don’t think you did it, Nann, but the world is definitely better off without him. I probably shouldn’t say anymore.”

  “Why not?” The bartender passed out pints. Nann took a sip. She wanted to take it slow and stay sharp. She had a killer to catch.

  “The cops already hauled him in,” Branden said.

  “Holy cow,” Zinnia said.

  Jim studied the amber depths of his glass. “I have a pretty good motive. When our dad died, Blake produced a will. That antique store was my dad’s, and the will stated that all the insurance money and savings and stuff would go into the antique store, and some redevelopment business. That is, unless Blake died without leaving any heirs. Then the business would go to me. I mean, I don’t really want an antiques store or a redevelopment thing. I could care less about any of it. But the store has always done really well, so it’s probably worth a lot of money.”

  Nann knew that the redevelopment business wasn’t doing well at all. Still, she was shocked. “Your own brother screwed you out of your inheritance?”

  “Half-brother. My dad was kind of a player. He knocked up my mom and Blake's mom at almost the same time. But Blake’s mom managed to rope him into a shotgun wedding before my mom confirmed she was carrying me.”

  “Woah!” Nann couldn’t help herself.

  “It was the seventies.”

  Zinnia knocked back her beer. “Seventies? It sounds more like Days of Our Lives.”

  “He didn’
t mean to. We did bond on some levels. He paid child support. Once in a while, he’d sneak out of the shop to take me fishing, hunting, guy stuff. There were always birthday and Christmas presents. My mom got married when I was about twelve, and Dave was a good dad to me, too. Not such a tough life.”

  “Blake takes after his mother more than his father, then,” Nann said.

  “I never had much to do with Blake’s mom. Dad and Blake did share a love of dusty old junk, so there’s that. I never had an interest. Still don’t.” Jim shrugged. “Turns out, I may be the owner of a dusty old junk shop, depending on probate. Oh, and getting cleared of murder charges.”

  “Don’t forget the redevelopment. That company was buying up all the abandoned properties around here. Supposed to be the biggest thing ever in this town,” Branden said.

  “Hopefully it’s a big thing, since I might own a pretty big chunk of it.”

  Zinnia cast Nann a look. Nann shook her head. Jim had already been questioned in the murder of his half-brother. He didn’t need any other bad news right now.

  BARBARA BUFORD WAS the first person in the area who Nann met. The woman immediately tried to buy Founder’s House out from under her. But the house was left to her by her Great-Aunt Nancy, the woman who trained Nann to be a Druid. She didn’t know it at the time. Nann thought she was taking care of a woman with dementia. Instead, her beloved aunt was imparting a millennia-old tradition. Nann was always partial to the occult, but until Aunt Nancy fell under her care, or she fell under Nancy’s wing, she never knew what to do with this interest. The house meant more than property to Nann. She could still feel Aunt Nancy in the old place. In a way, it was all Nann had left of her.

  Along with the town council, Barb had gone beyond the pale trying to acquire the house. The woman had Pokey pig-napped back when the potbelly pig was Aunt Nancy’s familiar. Nann suspected that this led to Nancy falling into the hands of Adult Protective Services. The same thing almost happened again, before Nann understood the importance of the frequently-irritating animal. He was now her familiar. Nann was pretty sure Barb and the boys were involved in magic, despite their oft-voiced disparaging of anything supernatural.