The Potion Commotion, page 1
part #1 of The Happy Blendings Witch Cozy Mystery Series
The Potion Commotion
by
Constance Barker
Copyright 2019 Constance Barker
All rights reserved.
Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Sign up for Constance Barker’s New Releases Newsletter
I will never spam or sell your email address
Follow me on my Facebook Page
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Don’t miss the next book in the Happy Blendings Cozy Witch Mystery Series:
Thanks for Reading
Catalog of Books
Chapter 1
The secret to good oranges, my grandmother always said, is sunshine.
“But if the sun don’t shine,” she’d say, “There’s always magic.”
It had been one of those odd seasons when magic had to pick up the slack. A gloom had settled over the river valley in recent weeks, making the air heavy and throwing a blanket of shade over all my poor orange trees. My name is Samantha Greene and I'm an earth witch.
I’d set my alarm clock for five in the morning so I could get out and cast the spell while it was still relatively cool. Even the relentless gloom couldn’t do anything to mitigate the sticky, viscous heat of a Georgia summer.
I made my way into the orchard, dodging dew-speckled spiderwebs and inspecting the trees. Those particular trees were “Valentines”, a hybrid of my grandmother’s creation. All the color and plumpness of a Valencia orange plus all the sweetness and flavor of a clementine. Valentine orange juice is famous (regionally, at least) for being the sweetest, brightest-tasting stuff you’ve ever had the pleasure of sipping. It makes up the base of most of my creations at the Happy Blendings Smoothie Shack, the finest blended drinks establishment in all of Goodsprings, Georgia.
Well...it’s actually the only blended drinks establishment in all of Goodsprings, Georgia. But I like to think that it would hold its own if the smoothie industry suddenly exploded in the Suwanee River area. But while business had been decent as of late, I didn’t think I could keep Happy Blendings afloat for long without my main ingredient. Which was why I had to make sure this spell went off without a hitch.
I reached the heart of the orchard just as the sun was beginning to turn all those bothersome gray clouds pink and gold. From the hilltop orchard I could just barely make out the shimmering line of the river in the morning light and the steepled tops of the town. It would be waking up soon—the people of Goodsprings were early risers, especially on weekdays. My best friend Tessa, owner and head chef at the town’s busiest short-order eatery, would be pulling bread out of the oven right about then and warming up the grill for the breakfast rush.
I spent a few sleepy seconds wondering whether I should abandon this early morning adventure in favor of a cinnamon roll and coffee at the Good Things Grill, then I remembered that my livelihood kind of depended on it. Can’t buy cinnamon rolls if you don’t have any money.
I drew a casting circle in the damp earth with my space and marked out four points with the stones I’d pulled from the river the night before. I scattered cloves within the circle, stifled a yawn, and knelt on the ground to recite the spell.
“Root to stem and branch to leaf,
These trees need some relief,
Pedicel, pith, pulp, and peel,
Fill these fruits with zest and zeal!”
The rich, wet smell of earth magic filled the orchard around me. I breathed deeply, relishing it. It reminded me of my grandmother...the scent of petrichor, fresh-tilled soil, and honeysuckle. The trees above me creaked as the earth magic seeped into their roots and flowed out their branches, patching the dry bark and smoothing the heat-scorched edges of their leaves. I watched as the oranges that dotted the trees plumped up and darkened. They weren’t fully ripe yet—there are limits to what a lone, sleep-deprived witch can do—but they would mature into perfect Valentines.
Satisfied, I stood, brushed the dirt from my knees, and broke the casting circle with a flick of my spade. This was more from habit than anything else, but my mother had always warned me to never, ever, leave a complete casting circle.
I left the orchard and made my way into the garden to gather that morning’s produce. I picked raspberries, strawberries, cucumbers, kale, and whatever else I felt the day would call for. Some days, all anyone in town ever wanted was a light, green smoothie. Other times people craved citrusy tartness or raspberry-chocolate sweetness. Every morning when I went out to pick I let the fruit inspire me...and it had never let me down. I gathered a few extra blueberries because they were looking exceptionally delicious, packed everything into my bike trailer, and started my morning ride into the town of Goodsprings.
Chapter 2
It was already starting to heat up by the time I reached Happy Blendings, which, to my surprise, was already unlocked. I poked my head in the door and looked around. All the lights were on, the floor was freshly mopped and glistening, and AC/DC was blaring from the kitchen. This could mean only one thing: David.
“David, you overachieving so-and-so!” I shouted over the music as I hauled my boxes of produce into the shop, “I wanted to surprise you by getting the prep work done early!”
“Beat you to it,” a gruff, low voice bellowed from the kitchen. David Ortiz, six-foot-five, tattooed from the neck down, and built like a walking refrigerator, emerged from the kitchen with a grin. He was holding two glasses filled with some sort of thick, purple goop.
“Wanted you to be the first to try my new recipe,” he said, handing me a glass, “This contains all the protein, calories, and vitamins the average human being needs...for a week. I call it ‘The Bomb”
“Why?” I said, eyeing the concoction. It smelled like a barnyard.
“Because it’s about to blow your mind,” David’s smile widened.
David is my only employee and I’m not ashamed to say that Happy Blendings would be a mess without him. He has never been late, is wonderful with customers, and only ever misses work when one of his nieces has a quinceanera or his dog has a vet appointment. Tessa thought I was crazy to hire a huge biker-type whose friends call him “Tank”, but in the two years I have worked with him I have never had cause to regret my decision.
“Let’s see then,” I said, holding my nose and taking a gulp of the smoothie.
It did not taste nearly as bad as it smelled, but it had a rather unpleasant chewy texture. Certainly not something you would ever expect (or desire) from a smoothie. David did not seem at all put out by the face I made. Rather, he looked overjoyed.
“You didn’t spit it out!” He shouted. “I’m getting close!”
He took a sip of his own glass, nodded thoughtfully, and scuttled back into the kitchen. I popped a strawberry in my mouth to get rid of the rubbery aftertaste that was starting to reveal itself.
David had finished all the prep work, so we opened Happy Blendings early and took a few minutes to catch up. He asked about my oranges and I said they were looking good, despite the gloom. David and I are friends, but he doesn’t know that I’m a witch...and never will, as far as I’m concerned.
When the Goodsprings coven was founded, way back at the beginning of our town, witches weren’t exactly the most popular figures. The four women who used magic to help the town founders enjoy plentiful harvests and mild weather had to live in secret, meeting in the woods under cover of night. Generations later, their descendants (myself included) remain sworn to their secrecy. While I don’t think David would be too bothered about having an earth-witch as a boss, my grandmother warned me that these things have a way of getting out of hand quickly.
Our first customer of the day arrived at 9 AM sharp, just as he did every day. Phineas Lichen, an older gentleman who had a habit of bringing his pet rooster with him everywhere he went, entered Happy Blendings with a tip of his wide-brimmed hat.
“Miss Greene,” he greeted. “Mr. Ortiz.”
“Good morning, Mr. Lichen,” David said, moving to the register, “How are you this fine day?”
“Oh fine, fine,” Lichen drawled, shifting his large handbag from his shoulder to the crook of his arm. Chuckles, his rooster, poked his head out of the bag, looking startled, and crowed reproachfully. Mr. Lichen pushed him back into the bag.
I’d given up trying to keep Chuckles out years ago. As long as Mr. Lichen and Chuckles stayed in the back patio seating area while he enjoyed his daily wheat-grass juice, I wouldn’t say anything.
“Would you and Chuckles like your usual?” I asked, peering into the bag. A single yellow eye blinked back at me.
“Mmmm,” Mr. Lichen hummed, then scrunched up his face and stared at the chalkboard where we advertise d our daily specials.
“What’s the ‘Green River Dream’ got in it?” he asked, squinting as he read the description.
“Avocado, mango, coconut water, pineapple, and fennel frond,” David recited, “Samantha came up with it this morning.”
“Hmm so she did,” Mr. Lichen muttered. “Avocado and fennel? Sounds too risky I think...give me my usual, won’t you?”
I went to prepare two wheat-grass juices—one regular and one in a tiny shot glass we kept specifically for Chuckles. I set the glasses on one of the patio tables while David rang up Mr. Lichen. I turned to go back inside and found myself face to face with Chuckles the rooster. Mr. Lichen had removed him from the bag and was cradling him in one arm. His wattle quivered as he jerked his tiny, feathered head back and forth, taking in the scene.
“Chuckles is actin’ up,” Mr. Lichen said, sitting down and setting the nervous rooster on the table, “Must be a storm comin’.”
I reached out and patted Chuckles on the head, same as I did most mornings. But instead of cackling appreciatively, he ruffled his feathers, stretched out his neck, and crowed a shrill reproach. I jerked my hand back, startled.
“Oh, shush you,” Mr. Lichen scolded. Chuckles warbled sulkily and dipped his beak into his shot glass-sized wheat-grass
I reentered the shop just in time to see Lily Windermere step in through the front door, a well-dressed gentleman in tow. Lily was the youngest member of Goodsprings’ wealthiest (and arguably oldest) family, the Windermeres. She was often seen about town, showing family friends and her aunt’s clients around. Her aunt, Amelia Windermere, was a successful entrepreneur, fixture of the region’s high society, and (unbeknownst to all outside the coven) an extraordinarily powerful witch.
“Good morning, Lily!” I called, sliding behind the counter, “How are you this morning?”
“Very well, Sam.” She smiled, propping her over-sized sunglasses atop her glossy blonde hair. “Oh, but it feels nice in here...it is just stifling out there.”
“We’re making the air conditioner earn its keep these days. What can I get for you?”
“Hmm,” Lily scanned the menu while her companion looked around bored. “Surprise me?”
“You asked for it,” David warned. Lily laughed.
“I trust Sam,” she said, winking.
“Much appreciated. And for you, sir?”
The well-dressed man regarded me coolly.
“I’ve already had my breakfast, thank you,” he replied.
“Don’t mind him,” Lily said loudly. “He’s not cross at you.”
The man scowled at her and strode over to one of the corner tables. Lily rolled her eyes.
I grabbed a blender and began filling it with an assortment of ingredients. I threw in a few chunks of frozen pineapple, a heap of sliced mango, half of a banana, and a dash of turmeric. I finished it off with a glug of coconut milk and a splash of fresh-squeezed orange juice, then blended it into a creamy smoothness. I poured the finished product into a cup, added a striped paper straw, and was about to carry it out to Lily when the sounds of an argument stopped me.
“Look, Thomas,” Lily sounded irritated, “My aunt’s private business is just that. I’m not going to go snooping around just because you’re feeling paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid, Lily,” The man—Thomas—shot back, “But don’t you think it’s well within my rights to want to know what she’s up to here?”
“Not at all,” Lily clipped, “If she hasn’t seen fit to share something with you, there’s probably a reason for that.”
“Your drink’s ready, hon!” David bellowed at Lily from the prep station, giving me a barely-perceptible wink. Lily strutted to the counter to retrieve her smoothie, thanked me, and rejoined a sulky-looking Thomas at the corner table.
“Thanks,” I muttered, “The last thing I wanted to do was walk right into whatever that was.”
“No problem,” David grinned, “That’s why they call me Tank...because I roll right over the drama.”
As the warm morning melted into a sweltering, overcast afternoon, more and more customers filtered into Happy Blendings for a cold smoothie and a moment of respite in the air conditioning. Bored teenagers looking for a place to stare at their phones in peace, families going to and from the park on Main Street, and local desk jockeys alike kept David and I busy until the end of the afternoon rush.
It was just before closing time that I saw Tessa strolling across Main Street toward the shop, wiping her hands on a stained apron. She entered the shop with a dramatic sigh and immediately slumped into one of the chairs.
“I’m dying,” she groaned, “This heat wave is killing me and only a cold glass of orange juice can save me now.”
David was already making his way to her, a tall glass of Valentine orange juice in hand.
“Bless you, Tank darling,” Tessa said, sitting up and seizing the glass. She took a long gulp, sighed, and slouched back into her chair with a smile. She definitely looked in need of some cooling off. Her short, coal-black hair was being held back by a sweat-soaked red bandanna, her face was flushed, and her skin glistened with perspiration.
I’ve known Tessa Smith since before either of us could walk. Her mother and my grandmother were coven sisters for decades and trained us together. But while I chose to stay in town and open Happy Blendings after college, Tessa was determined to see the world. She set off for Paris the day she turned eighteen and for many years I didn’t hear from her outside of an occasional letter and postcard. Then, four years ago, Tessa suddenly showed back up in town, ten-year-old daughter in tow.
Over the course of that last decade she had earned a degree from one of the finest culinary schools in France, married and divorced a rascal of a man who she refused to name, and raised as fine a young woman as you’d ever hope to meet. Almandine Smith, her daughter, was a fire-witch-in-training, just like Tessa was when we were growing up, and already she was showing real talent.
“If you’re here,” I asked Tessa, “Who’s on the grill?”
Tessa was the owner, founder, and head (sole) chef at the Good Eats Grill, a no-frills diner that had become something of an institution in Goodsprings.
“Allie’s holding down the fort for a minute,” Tessa replied, dabbing her forehead with a corner of her apron, “Do you know what it’s like to work a kitchen all day in this kind of heat? It’s madness...that's what it is.”
“Tessa Smith!” I cried, “Allie’s fourteen. And, forgive me, but that girl burns everything she touches. Just bite the bullet and hire a cook already.”
Tessa sipped on her orange juice and gazed around the shop.
“It’s nearly closing time, huh?” she said, then quietly, “Are we still on for tonight?”
I had completely forgotten. It was the third Friday of the month—coven night. It was my turn to host, so we would be meeting there, at Happy Blendings, after sundown.
“Yeah...” I said, “I, um, forgot. There won’t be snacks.”
Tessa downed the rest of her orange juice, smiled, and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Samantha Greene,” she said, “You know I’d never show up to a party empty-handed. You provide the air conditioning, I’ll take care of the snacks.”
Chapter 3
Tessa stood up, stretched, and started for the door. It swung open just as she was about to grab the handle, forcing her back. A tall, pale man with messy hair and a five-o-clock shadow slouched into the shop.
“Pardon me,” Tessa said coolly, frowning. The man frowned back at her and grunted in acknowledgment. It might have been a trick of the evening light, but I could have sworn I saw Tessa’s eyes flare up like embers. I stood up before she could say anything.
“Good evening, sir!” I said, “Welcome to Happy Blendings. What can I get for you?”
In the corner of my eye, I saw Tessa make a face, wave, and disappear through the door.
“Um...huh,” The man said, gazing sleepily at the menu, “Do you have...coffee...or anything?”
His voice was low and quiet, but the Yankee accent was unmistakable. We don’t get many Northerners down here in Goodsprings—we’re a good way from Savannah and there’s not much for tourists to do in these parts.
