“We’re the Goodsprings coven,” Tessa said, snapping her fingers to reignite the fire that the dobhar-chu's shaking had extinguished, “and we don’t take kindly to monsters showing up and killing our townspeople.”

  The dobhar-chu laughed a deep, booming laugh and rolled onto his back. Mats of sand clung to his furry belly and six clawed feet.

  “I am a proficient fisher,” he admitted, still chuckling, “but I don’t fish for humans. You make for poor eating. Bleh!”

  He began scratching sand off his belly.

  “Rude witches,” he said again. “Barging in on me with fire and accusations. I thought you Southern folk were supposed to have manners.”

  I burst out of wild form in a flurry of red fur, stumbling as I suddenly found myself on two legs. I lunged forward, hand extended.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” I panted. “My name is Samantha Greene and I am terribly sorry to have dropped in on you without notice.”

  The dobhar-chu blinked, smiled slightly, and shook my hand with two massive, clawed toes.

  “Finally,” he growled. “I am Muirchertach, the Otter King.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, uh...your majesty,” I said uncertainly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Allie attempting a curtsy in the sand. Egads!

  The Otter King peered around at the four of us.

  “Four witches,” he muttered. “But not the right four...are you looking for the water-witch? I am afraid you may not find her.”

  “Why is that?” Tessa said, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

  “Because she is dead,” the Otter King replied plainly.

  “And did you have something to do with that?”

  “In a way,” he said slowly. “I suppose I did.”

  Tessa bounced her flame back and forth between hands, looking impatient.

  “So did you kill her or not?” she asked.

  The Otter King’s whiskers twitched. “Of course not, though it was in my power to prevent her death, had I done as she requested.”

  “Requested?” I asked. “Wait...did you know Amelia?”

  “We were acquainted,” the Otter King growled. “Though we were far from friends.”

  “I know how that goes.” Tessa muttered.

  “She summoned me a mere fortnight ago,” he continued. “She desired protection from her enemies. I have served in this capacity for many water-witches throughout the centuries.”

  “Enemies?” I asked. The Otter King’s eyes narrowed.

  “The water-witch feared for her life. She had wronged some peasant and was worried that he would take revenge. Before I agreed to help her I asked what she had done to prompt such a response.” His furry brow furrowed and his voice grew louder as he spoke. “She tried to lie, to say it was a misunderstanding, but I saw the truth...she had used her magic to make the peasant’s land go dry!”

  The Otter King snarled, showing off dozens of pointed teeth. I gasped despite myself and took a step backward. He shook his head and snorted.

  “I told the water-witch that I would not condone this crime, nor would I protect her. I left her on the lake shore where she had summoned me. I did not see her again until last night, when I was swimming and saw something lying on the beach. Upon closer inspection I recognized the water-witch, but she was already dead. I suppose the peasant took his revenge.”

  “This...peasant,” I said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Did Amelia...that is, the water-witch, ever say his name?”

  The Otter King looked thoughtful.

  “I do not recall,” he admitted. “But his trade sounded delicious. He farms a sort of fish that I had never heard of. Crawl-fish.”

  “Craw-fish,” I sighed, turning to the others. “That sounds like Ronald Williams to me.”

  “Then the police were right,” said Mara, “Shame. Mr. Williams is always so sweet when I see him at the market. Just goes to show that you never know someone...”

  “Back up,” Allie said suddenly, pointing at the Otter King. “When you refused Amelia, why didn’t you go back to wherever it is you came from? Why stay in Goodsprings?”

  He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Have you tried the trash around here, little fire-witch? I’m not going anywhere. Every house has bins just overflowing with the tastiest morsels...all for me.”

  “Oh,” Mara gasped. “You’re the reason for all those raccoon complaints I’ve been hearing about.”

  “You’d better be careful,” I cautioned him. “Chief LaChance takes animal control seriously. If you don’t want to get caught I’d suggest sticking to the park dumpster.”

  The Otter King laughed again. “I have ways of making myself unseen. Now, if that is all, I would like to turn in for the night.”

  Chapter 11

  We drove back to town in tired silence until finally I couldn’t take it any longer.

  “How could Ronald Williams drown Amelia?” I burst out. Mara, who was riding shotgun, turned around to frown at me.

  “I imagine he was pretty upset. If Amelia had drained his land that probably meant the end of his business.”

  “No, I mean how could Mr. Williams drown her? Like, physically...how? If someone tried to push you off a building, how would that go?”

  Mara pulled her chin in, bemused. “Well...I suppose I’d just slow my fall with some wind magic.”

  “And you,” I tapped Tessa’s shoulder. “What if someone tried to, I don’t know, burn you at the stake like they tried with great-great-great-great-great-grandma Evelyn?”

  “I’d do exactly what she did,” she laughed. “I’d snuff it out in a blink and set fire to their britches.”

  “Precisely!” I cried. “So what makes you think a regular fellow like Mr. Williams stood a chance against Amelia?”

  “That’s a good point,” Tessa conceded.

  “I keep going back to it. Ever since the police said they found water in her lungs. There’s got to be more to it. And the police have no idea about her...or the coven...or any of this, really. We’re the only ones who can get to the bottom of it all.”

  Tessa groaned. “Fine. We’ll play detectives. But for Pete's sake, Sam...let us get a full night’s rest before we launch our 'investigation'.”

  “Fair enough.” I agreed. To my left, Allie snored. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as we started driving.

  “So...” Mara said eagerly. “Is it safe for me to assume that the coven is giving me full license to start actively listening in on local conversations? Maybe see if I can get some helpful information?” She was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of unleashing the full power of her “whisper” ability.

  “Listen away,” I said. “Tessa, tomorrow morning will you have Allie ask around on those witch forums she was talking about? There may be something else at work that we haven’t considered yet.”

  Tessa drove straight to my house from the lake, promising to pick me up in the morning since my bike was still at Happy Blendings. I waved goodbye from the end of the walk and began a sleepy trek up the front steps to my door.

  I was fumbling with my keys in the dark when a slight movement from the porch caught my eye.

  My heart started to pound in my ears and the smell of earth magic filled the night air as I instinctively took control of the vines that crept along the facade, ready to lash out at whatever was on my porch.

  “Samantha?” said a woman’s voice. “Samantha Greene?”

  I was temporarily blinded by the beam of a flashlight.

  “Sorry!” the voice said. The beam turned around to illuminate the pale, weary face of Detective Ada Gallagher. “I probably scared you.”

  “No,” I said breathlessly, releasing the vines. “Not at all.”

  “I came by earlier,” Ada said, shining the light on the keys I continued sorting through. “And since you weren’t home I decided to wait a bit and see if you got here...I guess I fell asleep. That rocking chair is unnaturally comfortable.”

  “My grandmother made it,” I said, jamming my house key into the lock. “She was good with stuff like that.”

  I paused at the door, my sleep deprivation battling with the compulsion to be polite. I strained my face into a smile and turned to Ada.

  “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?” I said, “You look about as tired as I am.”

  “That’s kind,” Ada said. “Yes, actually. Coffee would be great.”

  She followed me inside and I turned on the light, cringing at the state of my house. My living room was strewn with overgrown potted plants, abandoned knitting projects, and gardening tools that never made it back to the shed.

  “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Ada clipped in her odd Yankee accent. “I totally dropped in on you. And it’s not that bad...it’s actually pretty cozy in here.”

  My house is an old Victorian that my grandfather had bought as a fixer-upper. In the decades since, it had proven to be more of a breaker-downer. If it hadn’t been for the success of the Valentine orchard my grandmother had established, my family would have left the property years ago. Now it was just me keeping the old house from falling to pieces...and I wasn’t doing a great job of it. The roof needed patching, the plumbing was unreliable, and the entire South wall was starting to sag.

  I led Ada into the kitchen, where I fired up the range and filled the kettle.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, detective,” I said, pouring coffee beans into my grinder. “But I have to ask...”

  “...Why am I bothering you at home?” Ada suggested.

  “In not so many words, but yes.” I admitted.

  “Couple reasons,” Ada said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “First, I wanted to update you on the Windermere case. Since you were a friend of the victim.”

  I froze, hand on the grinder crank. “What have you found?”

  “A whole lot of strangeness,” Ada grumbled. “We had two suspects, both with motive...both with alibis. Lots of evidence that went nowhere.”

  I knew the feeling. I started grinding the coffee beans, trying not to look too interested.

  “Can I ask who the suspects were?” I said casually.

  Ada shrugged. “We brought the victim’s fiance in for questioning after her niece reported that they’d been arguing the night she was murdered. But he had left after that to cool off and stay the night at the Goodsprings Inn. Security camera footage shows him checking in and checking out in the morning, nothing else.”

  “Then we found these letters,” she continued. “From someone the victim had recently done business with. Seems they felt cheated or something...they weren’t pleased with how the deal had gone down. There were threats made, so we brought them in too.”

  “That sounds serious,” I said, pouring the beans into my French press.

  “Right?” Ada agreed. “I thought it was too easy. But get this...the author of the letters wasn’t even in town last night. They’d come upon some tickets to a game in Atlanta and were there all night. There are photos on the internet of them eating peanuts at the stadium.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Maybe it wasn’t a murder after all. Maybe we’re stuck in homicide detective mode and are seeing things that aren’t there.”

  The kettle started to whistle. I turned off the range and poured the boiling water into the press.

  “I think you should trust your instincts,” I told her. “My grandmother used to always tell me that...and she was the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  “She made amazing chairs and gave out great advice?” Ada said, taking the mug of coffee I offered her. “I think I’m going to have to hear a bit more about this lady.”

  “Well,” I began. “That smoothie your brother loved so much? The most essential part of that is the juice. My grandmother cultivated the orange variety we use here. You can’t find it anywhere else in the world.”

  With that, I launched into story after story about my grandmother. As I was speaking, I realized that I had never shared these stories before. Everyone in town had known grandma, so there was never any need to talk about all the amazing things she did. It almost felt like I was introducing her to a new acquaintance.

  A couple cups of coffee later and I had Ada talking about her family. Her and Ethan were raised by their father and had never known their mother, who Ada described as a “deadbeat” and “junkie”. Their father had retired to Florida a few years ago and they, wanting to live closer to him, had started looking for jobs in the area. Goodsprings was the first to have two spots available, so they put in to join the force—even though it meant a significant pay reduction.

  At some point, Ada thought to check the time on her phone. She swore and smacked her forehead.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Greene,” she said. “It’s three in the morning. I’ve kept you up all night.”

  “It’s fine,” I yawned, “Sleep is overrated.”

  Ada stood up from the couch and stretched. I frowned up at her. While I was struggling to keep my eyes open, she seemed fresh and alert. I realized I shouldn’t be surprised—city folk were accustomed to some strange hours.

  “I’ll get going,” she said. “Thanks again for the coffee. I can see myself out...try to get some rest!”

  I nodded sleepily and laid back on the couch, pulling a half-finished knitted blanket over myself.

  “Detective,” I said, remembering something. “What was the other reason?”

  “Hmm?” Ada paused at the door.

  “You said earlier that you had a couple reasons for being here. What was the other one?”

  “Oh,” Ada chuckled. “I wanted to ask you about Tessa. My brother thinks she hates him because of the door incident. He’s agonizing over the thought that we’ve been in town less than a week and he’s already made a bad impression.”

  “Nah,” I waved sleepily. “Tessa’s great. She just needs some time to cool down. If he’s really concerned, I reckon a jar of Kashmiri saffron could speed up the cooling process.”

  “Good to know,” Ada laughed. “Sleep well!”

  She slipped out the door. The last thing I heard before I drifted into sleep in the warmth of the early-morning light was the sound of a motorcycle revving up and skidding over gravel.

  Chapter 12

  “Honey, you look terrible,” David said the moment I walked into Happy Blendings the next day.

  “Good morning to you too. I didn’t sleep well.”

  David shook his head.

  “I hope they find whoever killed poor Miss Windermere.” David flicked a hefty scoop of matcha powder into a blender. “I hate seeing you so worried.”

  I joined him at the blender, adding a frozen bananas and a glug of almond milk to the mix. David blended it up into a bright green liquid that he poured over ice and garnished with a sprig of mint and a pinch of cacao powder. This was our secret, off-menu “Morning Person” recipe...guaranteed to put even the most sluggish and sleep-deprived of night owls in a good mood. I sipped it gratefully, hugging David’s huge, tattooed arm.

  “It’s certainly been a week,” I admitted between sips.

  It was a slow morning at Happy Blendings, likely due to the fact that the gloomy sky had finally made good on its threats and started dumping rain over the town. We had only sold a handful of Raspberry Soirees and Mango-Getters by the time Phineas Lichen arrived, shaking water off a tattered old umbrella. Chuckles the rooster was tucked under one arm, clucking indignantly as wayward droplets hit his face.

  “Good mornin!” Mr. Lichen called, shuffling toward the counter. “Slow day here?”

  “You’ve got the whole place to yourself,” I smiled. “What can I make you, Mr. Lichen?”

  “Hmm...” he scratched his chin and squinted at the menu. “What’s in one-of-them Peach for the Stars?”

  “That one has peaches, Valentine orange juice, coconut yogurt, and mango. It’s a bit tart.”

  He scrunched up his nose.

  “Don’t like mango...” he muttered. “I’ll just be gettin’ my usual, I think.”

  “Got it,” I said, ringing him up. “You and Chuckles are welcome to sit inside today, on account of the rain.”

  “Very kind of you, Miss Greene.” He grinned a toothless smile and handed over a fistful of change.

  He chose a table at the front of the shop, near the window that looked out across Main Street. Chuckles sat precariously on one of the spinning bar stools, wattle quivering nervously as the seat rotated beneath him.

  I brought them their wheat-grass and some sliced oranges as a little extra.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Lichen said, pushing the smaller smoothie toward Chuckles. “Now, Miss Greene, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so...you look a bit ruffled. I hope this Windermere business hasn’t got you losin’ sleep.”

  “It’s alright,” I said. “Just strange to think about. I’ve known Amelia almost my whole life...”

  Phineas shook his head. “I’ve never trusted a Windermere. Not even when they’re dead and gone. Somethin’ about all that money and all that house seems to turn them bad...”

  Chuckles’ head bobbed up and down, as if in agreement.

  “There’s somethin’ rotten in that house,” Phineas continued. “Somethin’ stinks more than all of Ronald William’s dry craw-fish beds.”

  Those words made me pause.

  “You know about Ronald’s farm?” I asked slowly. He took a drink of his wheat-grass smoothie and grimaced.

  “Somethin’ rotten...” he repeated. “Somethin’ not right with those folk.”

  “The Windermeres?”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow and peered up at me. His pale blue eyes, usually glazed with distraction, shone bright.

  “Well I sure ain’t talking about no craw-fish folk, am I?”

  “No, sir, you not.”

  He nodded, satisfied, and tapped the rim of his glass. “This is the good stuff. Drink this every day, I say to Chuckles, and you’ll live to be the first 100-year-old rooster.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10