A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery (18 page)

A
insley had insisted on driving my Jeep, which probably had more to do with my shaking hands than my penchant for driving too fast. She was a speed demon herself and liked to push my Wrangler to its limits on these back roads.

The radio had been cranked to a local country station Ainsley loved, and a dusty trail and flying pebbles lay in our wake as we made our way eastbound to Rock Creek. The silence between us was welcoming—Ainsley had known me so long that she knew when to push and when to back off and let me stew in my own thoughts.

I didn’t want to talk about what had happened back at the shop, or what it might mean to Nelson’s murder case. My mind was so jumbled with motives and suspects that I could barely think straight.

Ainsley glanced over at me and gave me her “it’ll be okay or I’ll make sure someone pays” smile and then started singing along to the radio. It was not, fortunately, a Dolly Parton song, as I’d had my fill for the day, despite how much I loved Dolly—and my mama.

Rock Creek was normally a fifteen-minute drive along a little-used, tree-lined, two-lane road, but Ainsley made it there in a little less than ten minutes. She slowed the Jeep dramatically as she entered town, switching from her closeted wild-child persona to that of a pastor’s wife, despite the fact that she specifically came here because of the anonymity this town provided. It was doubtful we’d run into anyone we knew. The big city of Huntsville to the south of us was only a bit farther away and was the go-to place for most of Hitching Post when it came to shopping, doctors, restaurants, and cultural activities.

But Ainsley didn’t like to take chances where Carter’s reputation was concerned, so she put on her prim-and-proper face.

Which nearly made me laugh, considering why we were here.

Rock Creek was vastly different from postcard-perfect, picturesque Hitching Post. This was a tiny working-class town that didn’t have the budget to gussy up public spaces, but it was clear the people of this town took pride in it. It was clean. And safe. Crime rates were low and there hadn’t been a murder here for as long as I could remember. Hitching Post couldn’t say the same.

Stores lined one main street and there were a few strip malls along the outskirts. Ainsley pulled my Jeep into a parking spot around the corner from Bixby’s and grabbed her pocketbook. “Do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll come. I need to pick up a few things.” Roly and Poly needed kitty litter, and I was almost out of peanut butter, a staple in my pantry.

Bixby’s was an old-fashioned pharmacy, and its smell always reminded me of my daddy’s library. There was a hint of mustiness and dustiness in the air along with a charm that time hadn’t been able to fade.

An older woman at the cash register was shelving cigarette packs as we walked in, and she smiled when she saw us. She didn’t know our names, only our faces, but we’d been coming in once a month for a few years now.

As Ainsley headed to the pharmacy counter, I wrestled a buggy from its corral and set to shopping. The pharmacy was small, the aisles so narrow two people could barely stand side to side, and every space on the shelves was full of merchandise. I’d already put the kitty litter and cat food in the buggy when Ainsley found me in the peanut butter aisle.

She held up her bag, its receipt stapled to the top, and smiled. “Success. Safe for another month.”

We’d been coming here for many years so she could anonymously buy her birth control pills under a fake name (for which she even had a license), and she paid cash, full price, as well. If she had her way, we would’ve taken her fake prescription (I didn’t ask questions) down to Birmingham, but the four-hour round trip was too much to explain away.

I was fairly certain Carter knew what Ainsley was doing. Fairly.

Being a pastor’s wife had placed her in a precarious situation, despite the fact that Carter’s church held no negative positions on birth control. The people within the church, however, had many opinions on the subject, all of which Ainsley had to listen to at length. For her, this subterfuge was simply a matter of privacy—one that Ainsley took very seriously.

“Thank goodness,” I joked, grabbing two jars of peanut butter from the shelf.

She gave me a playful nudge as I wheeled the buggy down the aisle. I’d turned down the next aisle to grab a new toothbrush and nearly hit the woman blocking the way.

“Sorry!” I cried. “I didn’t see—” I went silent as I recognized the woman—and the item she held in her hand.

“Angelea?” Ainsley said, automatically shoving her bag behind her and into her pocketbook as if Coach’s wife had X-ray vision. “What are you doing here and not at . . .” She trailed off when she saw what Angelea was holding.

Crimson that matched her hair flooded Angelea’s face. “Hey. I, uh . . .”

My gaze didn’t leave the blue box in her hand. A pregnancy test.

I immediately tapped into her energy to see if I could feel two, and was surprised that there was another energy present, strong and healthy. I hadn’t picked up on it earlier, probably because I’d been so focused on Angelea’s anxiety.

Anxiety that I now understood a whole lot better.

Angelea was pregnant. A little boy, if I was reading the energy correctly.

Yet she’d told me that Coach couldn’t have children of his own. . . . My eyes flew open wide as the realization hit.

This wasn’t Coach’s baby.

Angelea watched me carefully, and she swallowed hard at my facial reaction. She had to know the conclusion I’d reached after our earlier conversation.

No wonder she was here at Bixby’s—she’d come for the same reason as Ainsley. Anonymity. Except, unfortunately for her, we’d run into her—almost literally.

Her gaze darted around as she dropped the pregnancy test into the basket on her arm. “I, uh, should go. I best get home and get supper on the table before Floyd notices how long I’ve been gone.”

Ainsley said, “Home? You didn’t hear what happ— Ow! Carly!”

I’d stomped on her foot. If Angelea hadn’t heard that Coach had been arrested for assaulting me, I didn’t want her hearing it from us.

“Happened?” Angelea said, color still high in her cheeks. “What happened?”

Ainsley coughed and said, “Happened? Nothing happened.”

“But you said . . .” Angelea frowned.

“So,” Ainsley said, deflecting. “You think you’re pregnant? That would be wonderful!”

It was my turn to cough. I wasn’t sure how wondrous Angelea deemed this monumental event.

Angelea looked like she wanted to melt into the 1950s linoleum. “Yes, it would be,” she murmured. “I should go. If you two could . . .” She wiggled her hand so that we’d move aside.

Ainsley stepped back just as someone said, “Well, I’ll be! What are y’all doing here?” Behind Angelea, Emmylou Pritcherd came flouncing down the aisle, her own pharmacy bag in hand. “It’s like a regular Hitching Post reunion in here.”

Her gaze went from face to face and finally to Angelea’s basket, where that bright blue box practically transmitted look-at-me waves like a homing beacon.

“Oh!” Emmylou said, covering her mouth with her hand.

I tried to cut off any comments by saying, “What are you doing here, Emmylou?”

She held up her pharmacy bag. “Just picking up some medicine for Dudley’s stomach.” To Ainsley and Angelea, she said, “He’s been feeling puny lately. The doctor said it was an ulcer.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to Huntsville,” I said, as Angelea shifted nervously on her feet.

“Dudley’s cousin works at the clinic here in Rock Creek. We always come here. Why are y’all here?”

“Carly needed kitty litter,” Ainsley blurted. Then added, “The Hitching Post market was out.” She shrugged.

“Did y’all come together?” Emmylou asked, her gaze once again on that blue box.

“No,” Angelea said, “and I was just leaving. I need to get home.”

Ainsley and I parted to let her squeeze through, but she faced a new obstacle: Dudley.

“Darlin’! What are you doing in here?” Emmylou said. “You were supposed to wait in the car.”

He cleared his throat as he glanced from Angelea to the item in her basket. It may as well have been ticking like a bomb set to explode. “I came to see what was taking so long.” His eyebrows dipped, his cheeks colored, and he couldn’t take his gaze off that pregnancy test. “What are all y’all doing?”

I wondered at his strange reaction. Was it possible he had been having an affair with Angelea? Emmylou had hinted that Coach’s wife wasn’t over Dudley. . . . I didn’t even dare look at Emmylou, afraid of what her expression might be. “Shopping,” I said cheerfully as though there weren’t tension as thick as glue.

“Kitty litter,” Ainsley mumbled.

“But we’re finished now,” I said, giving Angelea a nudge.

“Right,” she said. “I have to go.” Giving a little wave, she hurried down the next aisle, headed for the cash register.

“I have to get back, too,” Ainsley said.

“Me, too,” I added, though I had nowhere in particular to go. I finally glanced at Emmylou. Her eyes were blank, and there was a bright smile on her lips. I had a feeling she was holding in an emotional hissy fit, but I definitely didn’t want to read her energy to find out for sure.

Ainsley gave me a push to get going, and said, “I hope you’re feeling better soon, Dudley.” He murmured his thanks, and as we headed to the register, she leaned into me and said, “That was weird, right?”

“Right,” I said.

At the counter, Angelea was still paying. We got in line behind her as the clerk said, “Do you want to pay cash, Mrs. Butts, or add it to your husband’s account?”

Two things struck me at once. One was that Angelea came here often enough to be known by name (which meant that Ainsley was going to start dragging me back to Birmingham), and the other was that this was the kind of place that still ran tabs. That was amazing in this day and age.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “The tab, thanks.”

The clerk slid a slip of paper and pen to Angelea. “Just sign here.”

As I watched Angelea sign her husband’s name, a small pit formed in my stomach. How often did she sign Coach’s name? If it was a lot, she could probably produce a good replication. She slid the paper back, said a few more words to the clerk, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.

I had to act quickly before she walked out. I casually (yet loudly) said to Ainsley, “How about this Nelson Winston business? Did you hear that Nelson had a handwriting analysis done for the upcoming trial? The report was sent to his house just a couple of days ago. . . . The police haven’t found it yet, but I heard they were going to be searching his house until dark tonight.”

Angelea paused a step before walking out the door.

The clerk looked at me like I’d grown two heads, and Ainsley gave me an eye roll. “Subtle,” she said.

I loaded my items on the counter. “I had to do something,” I whispered.

“Something, like what?” Ainsley asked. “I can’t for the life of me figure out what you’re up to.”

“Laying a trap,” I said as I paid and gathered my items.

“For?”

As we walked out into the warm evening, I said, “Angelea, of course. I bet she signs her husband’s name real well. She could be our embezzler.”

“Could be,” Ainsley said. “But what if she bites? What’s the next step?”

“To stake out Nelson’s house, of course. If she’s guilty of the embezzlement, she’ll want to know what that report says. Do you want to go on the stakeout with me?” I set my bags into the back of the Jeep.

“As much fun as that sounds, I don’t think I can. It’s family night tonight. But you’ll fill me in?”

“Definitely.”

As we climbed into the Jeep, I spotted Dudley and Emmylou coming out of the pharmacy. Emmylou still wore that same bright smile, and Dudley looked more ill than ever.

Again, I wondered about the father of Angelea’s baby.

And if Coach had any idea that his wife was carrying someone else’s child . . .

Because if he did know and had gone into a jealous rage, that might explain how the sleep potion I’d given Angelea had come to be poisoned.

It had been meant for Angelea—to kill her.

But that still didn’t explain how Nelson had ended up drinking the potion.

T
he phone was ringing as I walked into the house after dropping off Ainsley. I set my bags on the counter and grabbed up the receiver.

“It’s Dylan,” he said.

The tone of his voice set me immediately on edge. “What’s wrong?”

“Coach escaped from the jail.”

My stomach plummeted. “He what?”

“He went ballistic when he found out that his getting arrested again would revoke his original bail and send him back to jail until his trial. He overpowered one of the guards and took off. We have men looking for him, but I wanted to let you know right away.”

My hands began to sweat. I knew why Dylan had called—he feared that Coach would come after me again.

I feared the same thing.

I was also afraid he’d go after Angelea. “You need to send someone to warn Angelea as well.”

“Warn her why?”

“I think she was the one the poisoned potion was meant for.”

“Because it was in the bottle she bought?”

“No,” I said. “Because she’s pregnant with someone else’s baby.”

There was a long pause on his side of the line before he said, “You’d better explain.”

I told him about Angelea’s and my conversation earlier, what had happened at the pharmacy, and how I’d read Angelea’s energy and confirmed her pregnancy.

“Is it possible the baby is Coach’s?” he asked.

“Angelea told me that he couldn’t have children because of a complication of his diabetes.”

“But maybe that diagnosis is wrong. After all, she did get pregnant once before.”

Right after high school graduation, which was why she and Coach married in the first place. “Supposedly. Don’t you remember the rumors that she faked that pregnancy to trap him? Plus, she told me it had been many months since she and Coach . . .” My face heated. “You know. The baby’s energy is only that of a one-or two-month-old fetus.”

“I’ll go see Angelea myself about the coach situation. You may want to spend the night at your parents’ place.”

“And put them in danger? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t be stubborn about this, Carly. Coach is dangerous.”

As if I needed the reminder. “I’ll find somewhere to go.”

“Do it soon, Care Bear. I’ll be in touch.”

I hung up, my nerves on edge. Where on earth was I going to go? I didn’t want to put anyone I knew in danger, but I also couldn’t stay here.

As I headed upstairs to pack a bag there was a knock on the back door. I froze, momentarily scared that Coach had come knocking, but then I realized how ridiculous that was. I spun and went back into the kitchen. I swished aside the curtain and was very surprised to see the woman standing on my back steps.

The look on her face was more sad than menacing, so I cautiously opened the door. “Miz Morris? What’re you doing here?” I kept my tone firm and used my body to block the doorway so she couldn’t force her way inside. I hoped she hadn’t come here to do her brother’s dirty work.

“I heard what happened earlier, between Floyd and you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s not like Floyd to be so . . .” She shook her head. “He’s not himself these days.”

I grabbed onto my locket, letting it warm in my palm. I assumed she hadn’t heard about the jailbreak yet, and she probably hadn’t considered that he might have tried to kill his wife. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“And I wanted to give you this,” she said, holding out her hand, palm up. A silver key rested against pale skin.

“What’s that?”

“The key to Nelson’s house.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really expect you to.” She looked off to the distance, then refocused on me. “I worry with Floyd’s arrest this afternoon that the police will stop looking for any other suspects in Nelson’s death and pin the murder on Floyd.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“Because it’s the easy thing to do,” she sneered. Beady eyes narrowed on me. “You made me an offer this morning. I’d like to take you up on it. I’d understand if you have no desire to prove Floyd is innocent, but, as you said, if he is innocent, someone else is getting away with embezzlement . . . and murder. Nelson kept all his important files and papers at home, hidden under the floorboard in his bedroom. They’re locked in a safe, so you’ll have to figure out how to get it open. I didn’t tell the police because . . .”

I could easily follow her train of thought. “What if it turns out that Coach is guilty of one crime or the other. Or both?”

Her lips pursed. “My first inclination is to protect him, but if he’s truly guilty, then I suppose he has to face those consequences.”

I wondered if his altercation with me this afternoon had changed her opinion of her brother, because as of this morning, she had been steadfast in her belief of his innocence. “Why not tell the police now? Why give this to me?”

“I’m afraid that if you find that handwriting report and it proves that it wasn’t Floyd’s signature on those checks, then they’ll hide the evidence to wrap up this case.”

“Dylan Jackson is as honest as honest can be,” I said. “He’d never bend the law like that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not trusting many these days. Take it,” she said, holding out the key.

“Why don’t you go yourself?”

Suddenly tears filled her eyes. “I can’t go in there, knowing what happened to him. . . . I have to go. Maybe it was a mistake coming here. I just didn’t know where else to turn.” She spun to leave.

I stepped outside. “Give me the key.”

Wordlessly, she handed it to me and then walked quickly away. I watched her go for a few minutes before going back into the house.

I stared at the key I held.

It could possibly be the key to solving this whole case.

Or, my cynical side warned, it could be the key to setting a trap for me.

I’d have to be careful.

Very careful.

• • •

I called my parents to let them know what was going on, then packed a bag, dropped Roly and Poly off at Mr. Dunwoody’s (he’d graciously agreed to keep them for me), and headed for the Ring. My housing options were limited, but I finally decided where I’d be safest.

But first, a stop a Déjà Brew, then the market.

I needed provisions.

The bell on the door jangled when I entered, and when Jessa looked up her eyes flew open wide. She rushed right over to me and wrapped me in a hug.

“I heard what happened earlier.” She held me at arm’s length. “You okay, darlin’?”

“I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”

She shook her head. “I’d never have thought it of Coach. He’s done lost his mind.” She settled me in a chair. “Coffee?”

I nodded. “And some treats to go. Lots of them.”

Bribery never hurt anyone, and I planned to use the goodies to help my cause. I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d be welcomed at the place I wanted to stay tonight.

The news that Coach had broken out of jail obviously hadn’t hit town yet, as Jessa hadn’t pumped me for information, and there was no hum beneath the usual chatter. I, however, was very aware. My leg jiggled nervously, and I moved my seat to face the door. As I adjusted, I felt a pinch in my pocket from the charm Delia had given to me earlier.

I was at odds with myself for not having thrown it away.

A hex was a hex, and I’d vowed never to use them.

But protection was protection, and with Coach out of jail, I couldn’t be too careful.

If push came to shove, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to use it. And if that was the case, the hex was more dangerous to me carrying it around than not. Because it gave me a false sense of security.

From behind the counter, Jessa gathered up treats and said, “Talk is going around town that Coach might have had something to do with Nelson’s death, after all. I personally don’t believe it. But do you think that’s true?”

“I don’t know, Jessa. I honestly don’t know what to think.”

Her eyebrows dipped. “It makes no sense to me if it was him. And why kill Nelson in
your
shop? Surely not because of a ten-year-old grudge.”

I shrugged. I really didn’t know. Nothing made sense.

“I haven’t been hearing too much else. Nothing about any girlfriend Nelson may have had. And no one with any beefs against him, either.”

I was starting to get a headache. “My coffee, Jessa?”

“Oh! Coming right up, darlin’.”

The bells rang out on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Caleb Montgomery rushed in, his gaze landing on me immediately. He dragged a hand over his dark hair and let out a breath.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Worry filled his blue eyes as he sat across from me.

“You found me.” I fidgeted, unable to sit still with the way my nerves were acting up.

He leaned in. “You heard about Coach?”

I nodded.

“You need somewhere to stay? I have that cabin in the woods. . . .”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I think I have a place here in town.”

“Where?”

I told him.

He leaned back and laughed. “You’re serious?”

“No one will think to look for me there. Especially Coach. He’s not the brightest bulb.”

“Don’t underestimate him, Carly.”

No, I shouldn’t. I’d done that before, and I hated to think of that outcome if Emmylou and Dylan hadn’t been around. I’m not sure at all that my stapler would have done a bit of good against his hard head.

“Why not get a hotel room out of town?” he asked.

“I have something to do tonight.”

“Like what? You shouldn’t be out and about with Coach on the loose.”

I bit my nail. “Can I ask you a legal question?”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Dear Lord, Carly. What are you planning?”

“Is it considered breaking and entering if you have a key?”

He thumbed a crumb from the Formica tabletop. “Do you have permission to enter the house?”

“By the owner?”

“Of course. Who else?”

“No, not the owner, seeing as he’s dead.”

Caleb held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to come with me tonight?”

“To break into Nelson’s house? No. I’d like to keep my law license, thank you.”

“Is it breaking in, though? I have a key.”

“Yes, it’s breaking in if he didn’t give you permission!”

Jessa appeared and set a big bag down on the table, along with a to-go cup of coffee, its lid askew. She squeezed Caleb’s shoulder and said, “Your usual?”

He shook his head. “Actually, I can’t stay.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Hot date?”

“A blind date,” he said. “So I don’t know about hot.”

“You should let me set you up,” I said.

“No,” he answered, standing up.

I looked up at Jessa. “He knows I’ll have him married with babies in no time.”

He shuddered.

Jessa laughed. “There are worse things.”

“Death, maybe,” he said. “Listen, Carly, if your plans don’t work out for tonight, call me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” I gave him a salute.

He scowled and walked out.

“Do you have a hot date, too?” Jessa asked. “With Dylan?”

“No,” I said, pulling money from my wallet. “And what was with sending him over to my place?”

She smiled slyly. “You’re not the only one who can matchmake around here, Carly Hartwell.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“We’ll see about that. We’ll just see about that.”