One Potion in the Grave: A Magic Potion Mystery (21 page)

Shaking her head, Gabi said, “You know, I don’t think I ever really knew what love looked like until just now. That’s the kind of love I want.”

“I highly recommend you find it without the
meddling mama-in-law. Or the fire. Or the arrest. But yeah . . . the rest is pretty good.”

“So why aren’t you married then?”

Another loaded question. “Broken hearts get put back together one piece at a time. I still have a few pieces left to go.”

She looked to be contemplating that when the phone rang. I reached over and grabbed it up. It was the sheriff’s station, looking for Dylan.

As I took the cordless phone upstairs, I could only imagine why Dylan was wanted so early in the morning. I had my hand over the mouthpiece as I stuck my head in the bathroom. “Your office.”

He dusted his hands off on his shorts and said, “Jackson here.” He listened for a second and added, “You’re sure? Okay, let me write it down.”

He used a nub of a pencil and wrote on the sheetrock. It was an address in Nashville, Tennessee, about two hours north. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m on my way.” He clicked off the phone and said to me, “We might have finally gotten a break.”

“How?”

“Got a hit on the alert I sent out about Katie Sue’s jewelry. It’s sittin’ in a pawnshop in Nashville. I’ve got to go.”

“I don’t suppose I can go with—”

“No.” He kissed me.

“That doesn’t make up for it,” I said as he dashed down the stairs.

“Then I guess I need more practicin’,” he hollered back.

Smiling, I went to the window in my bedroom and
watched him hop in his truck and drive off. My gaze skipped across the street to the Loon.

Opposite me, Louisa was watching the same scene as I was . . . and I had to wonder how long she’d been looking out the window. She glanced up and noticed me. Quickly, she swished the curtain closed.

Huh.
I couldn’t help but wonder if her nosiness was idle curiosity at the goings-on in the neighborhood . . . or if she was lying in wait for the mail carrier.

Chapter Twenty-six

W
hen I left for work a little after nine thirty, I moseyed down the steps to the mailbox. I opened it up and pulled out the small pile of mail that had been stuffed inside only moments before.

No manila envelope.

I turned to the Loon, held up the letters for anyone who might be taking a gander—like Louisa—and shoved them in my bag. It was my way of saying, “Look! No manila envelope! No need to break in while I’m at work.”

I hoped the message was loud and clear, because Dylan still had my pitchfork as evidence and unless Marjie had secretly brought one of her guns over along with her clothes yesterday, she was somewhat defenseless.

The cats hadn’t looked the least bit willing to come to work with me, so I decided to leave my bike and walk. I was starting to wonder if they’d choose Marjie over me when it was time for her to go.

As I passed the Buzzard, I stopped, stared. Marjie’s
front yard had been cleared of weeds. Planters filled with colorful annuals dotted her porch. As I watched, Johnny came around from the backyard, pushing a wheelbarrow. He wore a fishing hat, a short-sleeved shirt, long pants, and tall boots. His skin was still red and rashy.

He spotted me and said, “Looks good, don’t it?”

“You
do
have a death wish, don’t you?”

Laughing, he said, “What? I’m just doing a little tidying. This spring cleaning is long overdue. Besides, I’ve already got poison ivy . . . what’s this yard going to do to me?”

“It’s not the yard you should be afraid of.”

“Marjoram doesn’t scare me. She’s all bark and no bite, that one.”

Had this man learned nothing? “I’m not sure which of the two of you is more stubborn.” Or crazy.

“A draw, I’d say.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’ll send flowers to your funeral,” I said, waving good-bye. His laughter followed me down the street. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hadn’t been joking.

I stopped at Dèjá Brew, grabbed my usual, and headed across the Ring to my shop. I quickly went around and turned on lights, adjusted the thermostat, and took quick stock of what needed to be done today. It was a lot. I’d been neglecting the place the last couple of days. There were bills to pay, orders to place, and cleaning to do.

No sooner did I unlock the door than a couple came in to browse around. They held hands, kept their heads bent, and continually smiled at each other.

Just eloped, was my guess. They bought a couple of
my premade items, a few hand soaps, a jar of bath salts. They’d just walked out the door when another person walked in.

Warren Calhoun.

There was no sign of my witchy senses, so I unclenched my hands and wondered what he was doing here.

“I’m not sure we’ve formally met,” he said, picking up a bar of soap and sniffing it.

It was so like what Katie Sue had done, I felt a pang of grief strike me hard. “I don’t think formal introductions are necessary, do you?”

“I was told you were feisty,” he said as he walked around.

“You probably don’t want to know what I’ve been told about you.”

The corner of his lip lifted. “Probably not.”

Outside, I noticed two of his lug nuts stood watch. I wondered if one of them had puncture wounds in his patootie, but they were too far away for me to feel their energy.

“It’s a lovely little shop you have.”

“I think so.” I slid my locket along its chain.

“I’ve done a little research on you, Ms. Hartwell. Reports say you’re a witch. That the potions you sell . . . are magical. True?”

“I’ve done a little research on you, too, Senator. Reports say you’re a playboy, that some of your money might not be all that clean, and that if people get too close to exposing who you really are, you have them killed. True?”

He let out a laugh, which surprised the hell out of me.

He said, “I see ‘feisty’ was an understatement. Let’s see. I haven’t been a playboy in years, my money is no one’s business, and I don’t believe in the death penalty . . . for anyone.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“I’m not sure why it’s amusing, Ms. Hartwell, but it’s the God’s honest truth. Now, I’m not saying I’m a saint. There have been plenty of times I’ve done something I shouldn’t have to protect my family, but you tend to reassess morality in those situations. Family comes first.”

“Said like a true presidential candidate.”

Wincing, he said, “Said like a man who’s made some mistakes. I’m withdrawing from the presidential election come Monday. I’ll fulfill the remaining three years of my term as senator, then I will reevaluate my political aspirations.”

He’d shocked me again. “Does your withdrawal from the presidential election have to do with Katie Sue’s death?”

“My plans have been in place for several weeks now. What has happened to Kathryn is a tragedy,” he said, “as she was a bright, lovely, somewhat misguided, young woman, but her death is not the reason for my withdrawal.”

“What is?”

“It’s a personal matter.”

“Personal, like your affair with her?” I prodded. “I bet if that leaked now, then in three years it will long be forgiven and forgotten.”

Shock flashed across his face, and then he laughed again. “An affair? Did she tell you that?”

His reaction startled me. Well, no. She hadn’t. But
her actions had certainly led me to believe it. “Do you deny it?”

“Of course.”

What did I think he would say? “I know Katie Sue had dirt on you. The manila envelope? The attacks on the mail carriers? Any of this ring a bell?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wryly, I said, “Now you’re just insulting me.”

He quietly strolled to the wall of potion bottles. “Kathryn and I were not having an affair,” he stated again.

Frustrated, I let down my guard to read his energy. He wasn’t lying about Katie Sue, and it took only a second to realize why he would renounce his candidacy. That reason overshadowed all his other energy.

Stunned, I drew in a deep breath. If Katie Sue hadn’t been his mistress . . . How had I been so wrong? She’d spoken of love and Warren being a puppet master and getting what she wanted from him . . . I was beyond confused.

I took hold of my locket. “How long have you known that you’re ill?”

Startled, he pivoted. “Pardon?”

I went about gathering a half dozen ingredients including ginger and white willow bark. “The cancer. How long have you known?”

“A month,” he answered. “I haven’t told anyone about it. Other than my doctors, you’re the only person who knows.” Suspicion crossed his features. “How
did
you know?”

“Witch, remember?” I asked, not wanting to explain my empathy abilities. “Are you in treatment yet?”

“No. I wanted to wait until after the wedding.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I saw the way Gabi’s face healed when she used the lotion you gave her. It was nothing short of . . . miraculous. I was hoping you’d have something to help me.”

“What have your doctors said?” I asked cautiously.

“They’ve advised me that the cancer is terminal but they can buy me some time. Six months, maybe a year.”

The cancer was, indeed, terminal. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. When I opened them again, I looked at him straight on. “I’m going to give you some advice. You don’t have to take it, but I have to give it. Despite any conflict we might have between us regarding Katie Sue, I’m not one to see someone needlessly suffer.”

“Go on.”

“Announce your resignation from all politics on Monday. Travel. Explore. Tend your garden. Ride your horses. Spend time with the people who matter most.”

“What’re you saying?”

I bit a nail. “I can make you a potion to help with the pain, but I can’t cure terminal ailments. The cancer in your body is everywhere.” I held his gaze. “You have two to four months at most. It’s up to you how you spend your remaining time, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want it to be spent in hospital hooked up to machines.”

Shoving a hand into his hair, his voice was hoarse as he asked, “I’ll take your opinion under advisement.” Looking up, I saw dampness in his eyes. “If I’d sought treatment a month ago . . . ?”

I didn’t want to tell him the truth. That a month ago his prognosis might have been so much brighter. This
was an aggressive form of cancer—it had done a lot of damage in four weeks.

Then I realized the cosmic irony of it all. He’d put off getting treatment to go to a wedding he’d deviously planned so he could get elected. Now, he’d never see election day.

I figured the truth would only hurt more, so I finally said, “It might have given you a little more time, but your type of cancer is aggressive and invasive . . . I doubt your outcome would be any different.”

He sat on one of the worktable stools and dragged a hand down his face. “You said you can help with the pain?”

“I’ll mix it up now.”

“Why would you help me?” he asked, searching my face with ravaged eyes. “Especially in light of Kathryn’s hatred of me?”

“I’m a healer,” I said simply. “I rarely like to see anybody suffer.”

“Rarely?”

“I have my moments.”

“Don’t we all,” he said drolly.

Drumming my fingers on the tabletop, I decided to see how much I could get out of Warren Calhoun. Being ill didn’t preclude him from being involved with Katie Sue’s death. “Katie Sue told me she was trying to get you to change your mind about something. What was that?” If it hadn’t been about him leaving Louisa, I was really at a loss.

“I’ve no idea what Kathryn wanted from my family,” he said.

Another lie. He hadn’t quite figured out that I could read his deceptions.

He added, “And I don’t have any idea what happened to her. No matter how hard you want to paint me as a villain, I wasn’t involved in her death.”

I was shocked to feel that he was telling the truth on that matter.

I tried to put together the pieces. He didn’t want to tell me what Katie Sue wanted from him, but whatever it was hadn’t led him to kill her. Were they two separate matters, after all? Had her killer been a little closer to home?

“Perhaps a closer look at her felonious family is in order,” he said as though reading my mind.

Squinting at him, I said, “Did you send a note to them that she was in town?”

“Me? No.”

Again, he was being truthful.

I asked, “Do you know who did?”

“No.”

A lie. “Was it Louisa?”

“Not at all.”

Another lie. So, it
had
been Louisa who’d notified the Cobbs that Katie Sue was in town. What a sweet, sweet woman. Bless her heart.

The thought reminded me of what Katie Sue had said about Gabi—and her wedding. “What did Katie Sue have to do with Gabi?”

His heart rate kicked up. “I don’t know what you mean. They barely knew each other.”

I was on to something, but I didn’t know what. Not yet. “What was in the envelope Katie Sue mailed to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, ah.” I waved a finger at him. “That’s a lie.”

His eyes darkened. “I suggest, Ms. Hartwell, that you forget you ever knew about an envelope.”

“Is that a threat, Senator?”

“Take it as you will. I, however, am through discussing Kathryn Perry. If that means you won’t help me with one of your elixirs, so be it.”

Indeed, I was regretting helping him at all, but the damn healer in me didn’t want to see him suffer. “I’ll be right ba—” I stopped midsentence as another couple came in. I gave them a friendly smile, told them to look around, and said to Warren, “I’m just going to mix this up for you.”

He snagged my arm. “Wait—before you do . . .”

“What?”

He dropped his voice. “Do you have anything that cures hair loss?”

Despite my irritation with him, this I had to hear. I leaned in eagerly, wondering if Louisa had gone bald overnight. “You know someone losing their hair?”

“I don’t know if it’s the stress of the wedding being canceled or what,” he said, “but Landry’s hair is falling out in clumps.”

My mouth dropped. “Landry?”

“At this rate, he’s going to be completely bald in a couple of days.”