One Potion in the Grave: A Magic Potion Mystery (13 page)

I set my hands on my hips. “Said the woman who has tumbleweeds for a lawn.”

Her lips pursed. “Don’t sass. Go get the mattress. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

Ainsley popped off the sofa. “I’ll help bring it down.”

A half hour later, the mattress was down the steps, fresh with new bedding, and Aunt Marjie was in the downstairs bath, getting ready for bed. I’d scrounged up an extra toothbrush, and had given her one of my nightshirts to wear. I’d offered to run to her house to pick up some of her things, but she’d declined.

“Why do you think she doesn’t want you in her house?” Ainsley said loudly as she fluffed a pillow. “Do you think she has a collection of dead bodies in her parlor or something?”

“I heard that!” Marjie snapped.

Ainsley said, “You were supposed to! Come on, Miss Marjie. Why all the secrecy?”

Marjie hopped into the living room. She’d yet to use the crutches. “I like my privacy. Now leave it be.”

“For now,” Ainsley said, a devious hint in her tone. She looked at the wall clock. “I suppose I should get home.”

“Yes,” Marjie agreed. “Yes you should.”

Glancing at the time, I smiled. “Nine fifty. I win.”

“It’s only because Marjie is here,” Ainsley said, slipping into her sandals.

“Sure, sure.” As much as the Clingons gave her fits, she adored them.

She lovingly flipped me off and strode out the door.

Marjie pulled back the sheet on the makeshift bed and said, “I like that girl.”

I laughed. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I’m not an invalid.” She lowered into the bed, letting out a
whoomph
as she did so. “I know where to find the sink.”

I couldn’t imagine this was a better setup than staying with my parents. Not wanting Johnny around, I understood, but not my mama—especially when she was drugged up. “All right then.” I went around locking the doors and turning off lights. I grabbed the lotion for my hands and headed for the stairs.

“Carly?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose you have a gun around, do you? I don’t sleep too well without my gun.”

“No guns. I can go down to your house . . .”

“No, no.”

Why didn’t she want anyone in her house? I always thought it was because of her cantankerous personality,
but now I truly wondered. In all my years, I’d never set foot farther than her front porch. “I have a pitchfork,” I offered.

There was a beat of silence before she said, “It’ll have to do.”

I tucked the pitchfork next to her mattress, and I saw her hand sneak out from under the sheet to grasp the handle.

“Just holler if you need anything else. Good night, Aunt Marjie.”

She grunted. “What’s so good about it?”

I glanced back at her as she settled in, her eyes squished closed, her grip tight on the pitchfork. Lordy be, but I loved my family. I was smiling as I clicked off the last light and headed up the stairs.

Chapter Fifteen

E
arly the next morning, I woke with a start, shooting upright in bed. My chest pounded. Sweat dampened my hair and my thin tank top. My pulse thudded in my ears.

The cats didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my abrupt awakening as they lazily yawned and stretched. I glanced around. Listened. The only noises were the whirr of the air conditioner, the hum of ceiling fan blades, and the purrs from Roly. Nothing seemed out of place, but I felt . . . out of sorts. Like there was something important I should remember.

“It must have been a dream that woke me up,” I said under my breath. But try as I might, I couldn’t remember a dream. I couldn’t even remember falling asleep, but sometime during the night, I had. My light was still on, and the medical textbooks I’d been reading when I climbed into bed last night were still piled next to me.

I’d had no luck finding an ailment that matched all of Jamie Lynn’s symptoms. I was looking forward to seeing
her today when she came by for her potion. I wanted to read her energy again—see if there was anything I had missed. And I wanted to know her reason for not using a wheelchair, because she needed one. Putting undo stress on an already failing body wasn’t going to do her any good.

I checked the palms of my hands and smiled. They were mostly healed, the skin still tender but no longer raw and weeping. Another dose of the potion and they’d be good as ever.

The first thing on my to-do list at work today was to make Jamie Lynn a potion. I needed to check the grimoire—the book of herbal recipes—to see which would be best for her symptoms. The Leilara made the potion work, but the mixture had to have the right ingredients.

In high doses, the Leilara could cure just about anything on its own, but the issue was that the drops were in limited supply. There were only so many tears before the entwined lilies shriveled for another year. Combining the drops with herbal remedies allowed me to help many people, not just a few.

As I slid my locket back and forth on its chain, an orange glow tinted the window shades, the first hint of sunrise. I had a lot to get done today. Besides working, I wanted to see if Dylan had learned anything new about Katie Sue’s death, talk with Caleb about finding out if she had a will, and track down Lyla Jameson. And I’d promised to help my mama at the chapel, too, and wondered what would happen with the Calhoun wedding. Would it be postponed? The cut on Gabi’s face wouldn’t heal in time for her to walk down the aisle, and would she want her wedding to be held in the same place Katie Sue had died?

It seemed unlikely.

Which meant my mama was going to need a whole crate of tranquilizers.

But if there was no wedding, would the Calhouns pack up and leave town today? The thought alone made me mad enough to spit nails. What if one of them had something to do with what happened to Katie Sue? I imagined Louisa was happy as could be right now. I hoped she wouldn’t have wished Katie Sue dead, but as a woman scorned . . . I wouldn’t put it past her. Or be surprised if she’d orchestrated the death.

I glanced at my bedside clock. It was a little past six in the morning. I stared at the bright red numbers and gasped when I remembered what had woken me up. It hadn’t been a dream at all—it had been a memory. A memory of a lifeless, bloodied body.

Reaching over the stack of books, I grabbed up the phone from my nightstand and dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Yeah,” a sleepy voice answered.

“It’s Carly. Sorry to call so early.” I heard the rustling of covers and could easily picture Dylan sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, swiping a hand through his hair. He’d be shirtless, of course, because he slept only in a pair of old gym shorts. I could picture his chest, too, and could practically trace the contours of his muscles with an imaginary fingertip.

I gave myself a good shake.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“A little after six.” Poly inched his way up the bed, stretching as he did so. One step,
streeeetch
. Another step,
streeeetch
. At this rate, he’d make it to my chest by noon.

“Wrong answer. You were supposed to say it’s time for us to elope. Today’s the day. Do I need to pack a bag, Care Bear?”

Have mercy on my soul, I almost said yes. “Don’t you remember the last time we did that? It didn’t work out so well.”

“Ancient history.”

“History tends to repeat itself.”

“Well, it’s time we rewrote it—don’t you think?”

My palms grew damp. “I don’t think rewriting history is possible. What happened is what happened.”

“Maybe so,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t glue back together what was broken. Rebuild on what was a solid foundation.”

Broken. It was a good description of what had happened to our relationship. Our hearts.

“Glue, you say?” I asked, wanting our relationship to end happily-ever-after with an ache so fierce I almost groaned.

“Really good stuff. Thick. Gooey. Stuff that’ll never so much as crack again.”

“Does that even exist?”

“It does if we want it to. Do you want it?”

He was asking so much in that one little question, but I was too scared to answer honestly. I didn’t want my heart broken again. “Maybe.”

“It’s a start.” I could practically hear his smile as he added, “So what’s on your mind this early if not to elope with me? Booty call? I can be there in ten minutes. Five if I use my lights and siren. Four if I don’t bother getting fully dressed.”

Poly head bumped my arm, looking for attention. I scratched under his chin as his purrs grew louder and louder. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Care Bear, you have no idea how much.”

It was suddenly very hot in my room. “Lights and sirens would be a bit much.”

“No, no they wouldn’t.”

“My aunts would surely take notice.”

“They take notice of everything anyway. Might as well give them something to really talk about.”

“Well, Marjie would surely be interested, considering she’s sleeping in my living room.”

There was a moment of silence, of mourning what almost was. “What?”

I explained how my father had dumped her on me.

He let out a deflated sigh. “Why’d you call, Carly?”

I suddenly felt ashamed for flirting and forgetting why I’d rung him in the first place. “It’s about Katie Sue.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“Not really. I just remembered something about Katie Sue’s body.” Poly flipped onto his back so I could rub his tummy. Roly preferred getting her beauty sleep.

I heard him stifle a yawn as he said, “What’s that?”

“Did you notice her jewelry was gone?” It was what had woken me. I must have been thinking about her subconsciously when I realized her ring, her watch, and her earrings had been missing when Johnny Braxton laid her on the ground next to the gazebo last night.

“You’re sure?”

I’d spent many long, long minutes scanning her body for signs of life while Dylan attempted CPR. I could
easily picture her lying on the ground, and in that image, there was no sign of her jewelry. “You can double-check with the coroner’s office but I’m sure. What I’m not sure about is why. What happened to it?”

“I’ll be seeing him this morning. If the jewelry is missing, this may be a case of a robbery gone wrong,” he speculated.

Maybe. Or Warren Calhoun didn’t want his investment wasted when he had Katie Sue killed. “Did you learn anything else overnight? Could you tell if Katie Sue jumped off that cliff or if she was pushed?” Knowing that for certain would send this case in very different directions.

“Neither, Carly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It looks like the initial attack on Katie Sue was at the gazebo, and then someone dragged her through the woods to Lover’s Leap.”

My hand trembled as I held the phone. “And?” I asked. I knew the worst was yet to come.

“She didn’t jump off that bluff, Carly. And she wasn’t pushed either. She was
thrown
. Katie Sue was murdered.”

*   *   *

Murdered.

Long after I’d hung up with Dylan, the word played on repeat in my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said and felt an overwhelming sadness for what my friend had gone through.

I wished I could have saved her. Wished it with all my heart. I swiped a tear from my eye and pulled myself together. I could sit here all day wallowing, or I could do something to bring about justice for Katie Sue.

Tossing off my blanket, I slipped on my robe. I’d shower, get dressed, and get going. I’d just opened my closet when Poly suddenly leaped off the bed and skidded toward the door, pawing it open (I always left it open a crack for the cats to come and go). Confused, I looked at Roly, who quickly followed the same path as her brother. What in the world?

Sticking my head out into the hallway, I picked up the aroma of bacon in the air. Ah. Now their behavior made sense. Nothing got them moving like the possibility of bacon.

Sniffing again, I picked up another scent. I hightailed it down the steps—nothing got
me
moving like the possibility of coffee.

I found Marjie in the kitchen, sitting on an old wooden stool next to the stove. Bacon sizzled in a cast iron pan, and two fluffy cats sat, ever hopeful, at her feet.

“Morning,” I said, heading for the cabinet where I kept my mugs. “Sleep okay?”

As I pulled open the cabinet door, and saw the mugs all lined up, the memory of a day when another shelf of mugs had come crashing down on me slipped into my mind. Dylan had helped me clean up ceramic shards, and we’d laughed and kissed and made plans about how we wanted to renovate the kitchen. At that moment in time, I never dreamed that our relationship would end up collapsing as well.

Could we rebuild?

I didn’t know. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little seed of hope bloom deep in my heart at the thought.

“Heard you yapping on the phone. How’s a woman supposed to sleep with that kind of racket?”

I reached in for a mug. “You’ve been up since five, and you know it.” She was always up at five on the dot. Shortly after which she usually speed walked the neighborhood, scaring birds from the trees, but with her casted ankle, today the birds were safe. I, on the other hand, was not.

The coffeepot was blissfully full. I filled my mug, added a little milk, and took that first sip. “Good stuff. Thanks for making it.”

Marjie harrumphed. I took that as a “You’re welcome.” She hopped over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. “Scrambled okay?”

“I can do that. Why don’t you—”

She spun and glared.

“Scrambled is good.”

“I thought so.” She turned back to the stove and pulled down another frying pan from the rack, the hem of the nightshirt I’d lent her riding up. I didn’t think I ever noticed how strong she was before now. Her arms and legs were toned and firm—no wiggle jiggle to be seen. No wonder she could hop around with no difficulty at all. Speed walking did her body good.

I cleaned the cats’ dishes, and then filled them with food and fresh water. Both ignored them, in favor of the bacon.

Leaning against the counter, I watched my aunt cook. Her movements were sure and swift—not an ounce of energy wasted. Her hair was a mess—I could see three tangles from where I stood. I didn’t dare ask her if I could help with it. I needed to ration my questions, and right now there were more pressing matters than her hair. “Can I ask you a question, Aunt Marjie?”

“Depends on the question.”

I took another sip of coffee and wondered why it always tasted better when someone else made it. “What did you slip into Johnny’s food yesterday on that picnic hike?”

She’d been reaching for an egg when her hand stilled. Slowly, she turned to face me. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stop smiling like that. You’re scaring me.” A Grinch-like grin was plastered to her face.

She chuckled.
Chuckled!
Grabbing the egg, she whacked it against the lip of a bowl, cracking it clear in half but not letting a bit of the white drip onto the counter. She cracked three more eggs the same way.
Whack, whack, whack!

I winced each time. The cats were unfazed.