Poetry in Potion, page 7
part #5 of Spellbound Ever After Series
I scrunched my nose. “But it’s not a dart. It’s a potion.”
“It’s named after the poison dart frog. That species is known to expel their own innards.”
I stared at my remaining food. “Thanks for that visual.”
“That’s why there was so much vomit at the scene,” Astrid continued. “The poison makes the victim throw up the contents of their stomach before it kills them.”
That was both brutal and gross. “Whoever killed Claire with a Potion Dart potion must have seriously disliked her.”
“I think the murder itself might suggest that as well,” Astrid said.
“Obviously, but I mean, that potion was carefully chosen and it’s a nasty one.” Then again, given Claire’s reputation, the use of such a horrible poison wouldn’t necessarily narrow down the list of suspects.
“Louisa Loomis is skilled with potions,” Astrid said. “She sells them in a stall right next to the victim. She predicted the victim’s death and, given their proximity, she could have easily given the potion to the victim without any witnesses.”
“So you found evidence of the potion in Louisa’s inventory?”
Astrid hesitated. “No. None of her potions were poisonous. In fact, some of them weren’t even potions. They were just colored water.” She shook her head. “Weird.”
Not really, given what I knew. “Then where did the potion come from?”
“I’m still looking into it.”
“Then how can you be so sure it was Louisa?” I asked.
“Because even if it came from another stall,” Astrid said, “Louisa still had motive and opportunity. She knows potions well enough to identify poisonous ones. She could have stolen it from elsewhere without anyone knowing and given it to Claire that morning. Maybe as a peace offering for the day before.”
“There’s an awful lot of speculation in there, Sheriff.”
“There was enough evidence for an arrest,” she replied. “It was my duty to act. The rest is up to you and Rochester. I’ll be sure to pass along any other evidence I collect, though. I want the right suspect in custody, you know that.”
As much as I trusted Astrid, it didn’t mean she was right. “I know you do. Thanks, Astrid.”
The server skated over and spun around before rolling closer to the table. “Can I get you ladies anything else? We’ve got a red velvet cake on special. The blood layer makes it the moistest cake you’ve ever tasted.” She kissed her fingers like a cartoon French chef.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” I said.
“And I’ll take the check,” Astrid said.
“No, we have to split it,” I said. “It’s a conflict of interest for the sheriff to buy the defense attorney’s meal, especially when we’re discussing the case.”
“Good point.” She glanced at my empty plates. “Plus, you ate a lot more than I did anyway.”
“Be right back,” the server said with a smile befitting an NFL cheerleader. She skated off toward the register.
“I’m glad to see a new business doing well,” I said. “It’s good for the town, like the World Market.”
“I’ll tell you what isn’t good for the town, a murder.”
I sighed. “No kidding. Poor Daniel.” Poor Claire Cronk. Poor Louisa. It sucked all around.
“How are you feeling anyway?” Astrid asked. “That’s the type of question I’m supposed to ask a pregnant woman, right? I can’t say I have a lot of experience in that area.”
“It depends on the minute. It seems to change as often as I need to pee, which is a lot, in case you’re wondering. The baby has mistaken my bladder for a pillow.”
Astrid stared at me. “Every day with you is like a biology lesson lately. Luckily for you, I like learning.”
“I wish Gareth shared your attitude. He wants to be involved in every aspect of this, but the moment I utter the word ‘placenta,’ he floats straight into a wall and hides for hours.”
Astrid laughed and shook her head. “Dudes. Even when they’re dead, they’re giant babies.”
“To be fair, he’s very invested. I know he’s going to love this child as much as Daniel and I do and that makes me incredibly happy.” As someone who once thought she’d spend the rest of her life alone and without a family, it was overwhelming to realize how much my life had changed for the better here. I’d created a family of my very own from nothing and no one.
“This baby is going to be a Spellbound celebrity,” Astrid said.
“Ugh, I hope not. Celebrity kids don’t have the best track records in the human world. They tend to implode by the time they reach adulthood.”
The server returned with the check. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready, ladies. No rush!” She skated to another table to take their order.
My throat and chest began to burn. “No, no. Not again.”
“What is it?”
“Heartburn. Reflux. You name it.” I leaned back against the booth to ride it out. I knew it would pass in a minute. “I hope this stuff goes away after the baby comes. If these ailments are permanent, I’m going to have to find a spell that gets rid of them. I can’t live like this.” Neither could Daniel. He had to be tired of seeing me propped up in bed in the middle of the night, moaning.
“No offense, but I hope your feet go back to their normal size,” Astrid said. “I’m afraid to walk too close to you and get punted.”
We left money on the table and moved toward the exit. I was pretty sure I’d gained another five pounds from the diner alone.
“Where are you headed now?” Astrid asked.
“Back to the market. There’s someone I’d like to speak to.”
Astrid launched a pale eyebrow. “You’re not conducting your own investigation, are you?”
“I would never dream of doing that,” I lied.
“Just tell me you’re going shopping,” Astrid said, although her pleading expression suggested that she knew exactly what I intended to do.
I held up a finger. “Actually, plans have changed. Right now, I’m going to the restroom.”
“You’re not going to be sick, are you? Do I need to come in and hold your hair back? That’s a thing, right?”
“No, no. This is just a case of too many lemon fizzes. Lesson learned.”
Sheriff Astrid looked visibly relieved and I laughed to myself as I ambled toward the restroom. Who was I kidding? Life was short. There was no such thing as too many lemon fizzes.
The sign above the stall read Armstrong’s Potions—pick your poison. I studied the wide variety of bottles available. Some were shaped like bud vases and others reminded me of antiques that I might have seen in a dusty old shop. Each one was filled with vivid liquids in blues, reds, and deep oranges. There was an entire section devoted to potions with rainbow colors that swirled inside the bottle without actually melting into each other, like oil and water. The potions were arranged by color rather than their effect.
The wizard behind the counter was focused on a customer. He seemed to be discussing a potion that helped with eczema. He wore a thin brown robe that looked as though it had been washed more than its fair share of times. His pointy hat was the same shade of dirt brown and more wrinkled than a Shar-Pei. Even with his disheveled appearance, he was a handsome figure. The lady buying the potion apparently thought so as well because she couldn’t seem to stop giggling at him. She was at least twenty years his junior as well.
“No, I’m completely serious,” he said to her. “You simply dab a fingertip amount and that will be enough to address both arms. Here, hold out your left arm and I’ll show you.”
I watched with interest as he seductively rubbed the orange potion up and down her arm with strong wide strokes. The lady appeared enthralled.
I cleared my throat to let him know that he had another potential sale waiting. He turned to smile at me and his gaze quickly dropped to my stomach. I guess he was mentally ruling me out as an object of flirtation.
“I’ll take two bottles,” the lady said eagerly. She examined her arm as the signs of eczema began to fade. “Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.”
“My stall closes around six,” he said. “If you’re interested, I would love to take you to dinner. I’m not familiar with the town so I would love recommendations.”
The young lady could hardly contain her excitement. “I would absolutely love to. There are oodles of good places to choose from. Just tell me what you like.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “How about I do that later?”
She handed over payment and took her two bottles of orange potion. “I’ll meet you at the front of the square at quarter past six.”
“I’ll be counting the minutes,” he said smoothly.
She practically vibrated as she walked way and he turned his focus to me with a broad smile.
“And how can I help you, ma’am? In need of a potion to ease those aching joints of yours? I have to imagine the going is tough at this stage.”
“You have no idea,” I replied. I contemplated the bottles. “They all look far too pretty to drink or use topically.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I brew each and every one personally. It’s important to me to maintain the high quality that has become associated with Armstrong’s potions.”
“I understand you make special potions here.”
He winked. “They’re all special, my dear.”
“No, I mean for special occasions.” I placed my hands on my neck, stuck out my tongue, and pretended to choke.
His smile faded. “And where did you hear this?”
“Save it, Horatio,” I said. “Everybody here knows where they can get their hands on black market potions.”
He crossed his arms. “I screen my customers very carefully. Anyone in search of a special potion has to undergo a background check and wait forty-eight hours.”
“So you only support the premeditated murder community rather than the crime of passion community. Got it.”
He lowered his voice. “Are you a member of law enforcement? Because all my paperwork is in order. I keep meticulous records.”
“Do you carry a potion called the Poison Dart?”
“As you can see, I carry a lot of potions. Why would you ask about that one specifically?”
“Let’s just agree that you do,” I said. “Can you tell me if anyone purchased that potion this week?”
He hesitated. “No one.”
He was hiding something and not very well. “You need to finish the sentence. I sense a ‘but.’”
His gaze darted from left to right before settling back on me. “No one bought it, but it may have disappeared from my stock earlier in the week.”
How convenient. “Is that the potion you accused Claire Cronk of stealing from your inventory?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Now you sound like Claire. I did not accuse her. I was merely making conversation. Anyone who knows Claire knows how impossible that is. I never should have bothered. It’s never…” He cut himself off. “Who told you about that? Bryan?”
“I’d worry more about the fact that Claire Cronk was killed by a potion that only you seem to carry.”
Horatio seemed taken aback. “Wait. Claire was killed by the Poison Dart? I thought someone bludgeoned her to death. Pascale said he saw a pool of blood by her head.”
“That wasn’t blood; that was vomit from the potion.” I paused. “Your potion, it seems.”
Horatio was momentarily speechless. “When I noticed the bottle was missing, I thought that maybe I’d been mistaken and left it at home.”
“Except your records are meticulous, you said so yourself.”
“That’s why it bothered me so much,” he said. He poked his finger beneath his collar and tugged nervously. “It’s not one that I carry regularly because of its potency.”
“And the fact that it’s illegal,” I added.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “I didn’t particularly care for Claire, but what a horrible way to die.”
“You admit you didn’t get along with her?”
“No one did.” He gave me a pointed look. “If anyone claims otherwise, they’re lying. She was intolerable.”
“Did you have any arguments with Claire this week?”
“Well, you mentioned the one where she thought I was accusing her of stealing.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I suppose the other one was worse.”
“What other one?” I asked. Bryan had only mentioned one run-in.
“We argued here, after the incident with the missing inventory. She stormed over and accused me of selling fake potions right in front of potential customers. Needless to say, I lost a few sales.”
I immediately thought of Louisa. “And do you?”
“Absolutely not,” he replied, indignant. “I take great pride in my creations. I’ve been building this business from the ground up for years, the same as she had. It was insulting and completely out of line.”
“Why do you think she did that?” Horatio seemed reluctant to answer, so I pressed harder. “Horatio, I can tell you’re withholding information. I’m sure there’s a potion here that helps loosen tongues.” I pretended to scan the options.
“Some of the others think that Claire had a crush on me, so she lashed out at me whenever she could.”
“Claire is…was married.”
He shot me a meaningful look. “She wouldn’t be the first married woman in history to have a crush on someone other than her husband. I suspect she was…frustrated. Believe it or not, I empathized with her. It’s one of the reasons I kept my temper with her, no matter how horrible she was.”
“It must have been difficult for you to put up with her behavior, especially if she was chasing away business. Nothing a little dose of a lethal potion wouldn’t solve.”
“I certainly didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“You said yourself she was intolerable, so maybe you decided not to tolerate her anymore. You had motive and opportunity.”
“Everyone in this market had motive and opportunity. As you said, everyone here knows about my special potions. Any one of them could have taken it, including the potion teller. That’s who they arrested, right? Maybe she stole the poison and waited for the right time to use it against Claire. She certainly knows how to use them.”
Given what I knew, that was debatable.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Horatio asked.
“That’s not up to me,” I said, “but I’m going to pass this information along to Sheriff Astrid. I suggest you not leave town until the matter is resolved. Spellbound’s borders are open now so cooperating with outside authorities is much easier.” While the information wouldn’t be enough to get Louisa out of prison right now, it would certainly leave the door open for reasonable doubt.
“If I’m not under arrest, any chance you can recommend a romantic restaurant in town? I’d like to treat my new lady friend to a quiet dinner.”
“My husband and I are partial to Secret Garden,” I said. “You’re going to need a reservation, though. It’s right at the bottom of the square and it’s extremely popular with the locals. She’ll be thrilled if you take her there.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How thrilled are we talking, on a scale of first base to a double-header?”
“I’m not sure that the restaurant will be the deciding factor for her,” I said. “She seemed pretty into you.”
“She did, didn’t she?” He smiled to himself as he studied the green potions in the row in front of him. “In that case, I know exactly which potion I should take with me tonight.”
I didn’t dare to look at the label to see the effect. I had a strong feeling that I knew exactly what kind of potion it was and decided it was in my best interest not to give Horatio’s date any further thought. After all, I’d already been privy to more than enough vomiting for one week. No need to add my own to the putrid mix.
Chapter Nine
“What in Hecate’s name is a poetry slam?” Meg asked. The red-haired witch and I loitered in the corridor of the Arabella St. Simon Academy. No one seemed particularly eager to attend today’s lesson, most likely because Marjory Limpet had decided to teach it herself. Apparently, key coven members had tried to persuade her that her time was too valuable as High Priestess to spend it in the classroom, but Marjory had insisted.
“Lady Weatherby taught the occasional class,” she’d reportedly said to Professor Holmes. “Are you suggesting that I’m not as adept as she was?” Naturally, no one dared to respond to that question.
“A poetry slam is where a bunch of losers talk about their boring emotions in rhyme,” Avery said, as she stepped between us and ducked into the classroom.
“Poems don’t have to rhyme,” Laurel said. She was hot on Avery’s heels, probably hoping to snag a front row seat.
I quickly explained the competition to Meg with one eye trained on Limpet’s office door. The moment it opened, I intended to hurl myself into the classroom and avoid eye contact with the High Priestess.
“And you recite the poem in front of a crowd?” Meg asked.
“That’s kind of the point,” I said. “You get an audience for your poetry. A chance to be heard. The competition aspect is just one element of it.”
“I think I’d rather watch than participate,” Meg said. “It’s kind of like karaoke where you can watch participants make fools of themselves.”
“Yeah, about that…I promised Gareth I’d recite his poem.”
Meg suppressed a laugh. “Okay, now I’m definitely coming to watch.”
“Please don’t. I think you’ve seen me make a fool of myself enough for one lifetime.”
“I think we all have, Ms. Hart,” a clipped voice said.
I whirled around to see Marjory Limpet behind me. Ugh. So much for dodging the bubblegum pink bullet. “High Priestess, what lovely shoes. Are they new?”
“I’m surprised you can see anything below the waist,” Marjory said. “You seem about ready to pop. Shall I fetch a pin and experiment?” She laughed at her own joke.
