Spell on Earth Read online

  Spell on Earth

  An Elemental Witches of Eternal Springs Cozy Mystery

  Leighann Dobbs

  Contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  Also by Leighann Dobbs

  About Leighann Dobbs

  Summary

  Summary:

  Finding a body facedown in a chocolate fountain isn’t exactly the way earth witch Zola Meadows wanted to start her day. Even worse, her sweet old lady neighbor, Lilly Martinelli, is arrested for the crime. The evidence against Lilly is flimsy at best, and Zola vows to clear her name. Not only to make sure justice is served, but also to get rid of the trouble making cat that Lilly has entrusted to her care while she’s in jail.

  Luck is on her side. Lilly’s hotter-than-heck pie-making nephew wants to help. Then again, maybe that’s not such a good idea. Not just because Zola has a romantic past with him, but also because he soon bubbles up to the top of her suspect list.

  Zola finds herself wading through a maze of clues and suspects: cheating husbands, purse-grabbing friends, shopping-obsessed daughters, not to mention a little creature running around town tormenting tourists with bad breath and sticky brown goo. With pressure from the coven elders and a sheriff itching to close the case, Zola must put her magical skills to the test in order to discover the true identity of the killer before Lilly’s time runs out.

  One

  “Pansies or impatiens?” I asked as I stood back and surveyed the plants lined along the stainless-steel table in the back room of my garden shop, Cackleberries. The plants were to freshen up the lobby at the Eternal Springs Resort and Spa, one of my commercial contracts.

  Lilacs. They’ll mask the stench.

  I frowned around the plants at my pet, Clover. She lounged in an extra-plush cat bed, her shiny black eyes peering at me from beneath her fluffy black-and-white-striped tail.

  You might think it’s weird to have a skunk for a pet—even weirder to communicate with it telepathically. Not if you’re a witch. Yep, that’s me, Zola Meadows, earth witch extraordinaire. Okay, maybe the extraordinaire part is exaggerating a bit. But at the very least, I like to think that I’m a pretty decent witch and an even better gardener.

  “There’s no stench at the spa.” I plucked some dead leaves from the impatiens and moved the flowers into the basket I would load onto my scooter.

  Yes, there is. You probably just can’t smell it. It smells like dead people.

  Oh, that again. Ever since the unfortunate murder at the spa last week, Clover had been going on about how the small island of Eternal Springs wasn’t safe. To tell the truth, Clover could be kind of a downer sometimes. She tended to focus on the negative. Then again, she did have an overdeveloped sense of smell, so maybe she still could smell some death residue at the spa.

  “The body has been gone for more than a week. The smell is long gone, at least for most normal beings.” I piled more plants into the basket. Purple petunias, happy yellow pansies. What else would look good? Maybe some bright pink fuchsia.

  I turned and grabbed a few of the fuchsia plants from the tiered stand along the wall.

  Not those. Swoops pooped in them.

  Yech! I dropped the pots onto the table then looked inside. Yep, little tiny bat guano.

  “How did Swoops get in here?” Swoops belonged to my sister witch, Skye Thornton, and was almost as annoying as Skye herself. I use the term “sister” loosely. There are four of us: Skye Thornton, Evian Brook, Kenna Byrne, and me, stuck together here on this miserable island off the coast of Jersey with the unenviable job of protecting the island and ensuring its prosperity.

  Protecting an island sounds like an honor, right? Actually it’s punishment for something that happened thirteen years ago when we attended St. Joan of Arc school to learn witchcraft here on the island. The four of us were supposed to be watching over the school, but someone slacked off. It wasn’t me, mind you. Anyway, the school was destroyed by a big fire, and we were blamed. The worst part was, the fire left a hole to the other side that requires constant tending.

  That’s why I use the term “sisters” loosely. Skye, Kenna, and Evian are more like unwanted sisters, but it’s our duty to ensure the prosperity of the island and protect it from certain … unsavory inhabitants that might escape through the hole. Sure, we were friends all those years ago, but after the incident that shall not be named, there was a lot of finger-pointing and accusations that can’t be easily forgiven even thirteen years later.

  Swoops squeezed in through a tiny slit between the glass and the metal frame in the greenhouse. You know how bats are. They can smoosh up real small. I wish you’d patch that. He reeks of corned beef hash. Clover wrinkled her nose. It’s disgusting.

  Clover’s thoughts pulled me out of my unpleasant reminiscence, and I swiveled to look at the greenhouse ceiling. Yep, there was a little gap.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can.” I grabbed a miniature spade and scooped the little bat poops out of the pots and onto the Eternal Springs Quarterly Newsletter. The newsletter was produced by Kenna, who was in charge of the tourism board. I heard it was all cute and chatty with town happenings and restaurant discounts, but I’d never read it. I used it under my planters to catch the dirt that spilled from the little holes for easier clean up. And now, apparently, for bat poop.

  Good. Why are you in such a hurry to get to the spa this morning, anyway?

  “What? I’m not in any hurry. I always go early in the morning.” I like to refresh the flowers and water the plants before the lobby becomes crowded with tourists.

  Really? Clover’s dark beady eyes turned skeptical. You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the new chocolate display?

  “Of course not. I just want to make sure the spa looks bright and pretty for the new guests coming in early in the morning.”

  Okay, maybe it did have a little bit to do with the chocolate display. Lilly Martinelli, a spry seventy-year-old who owned the shop next to mine made the most divine chocolates on the planet. The tourism board had started a new initiative in which each month a new business would be featured in the hotel lobby. This month was Lilly’s turn. She’d set up the display yesterday. I hadn’t been over to check it out yet, but I’d heard rumors of a seven-foot-tall chocolate fountain.

  I finished filling the baskets then heaved one on my hip and headed toward the front door to my pink scooter parked just outside. I was almost to the door when I realized I didn’t hear the patter of little skunk claws at my side.

  I turned to see Clover still cuddled in her bed. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  Are you kidding? No way. People get killed there. If you’re smart, you won’t go either.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There was one murder in more than thirteen years.” Unless you counted the Landry incident with the goats a few months ago, but that was more of a domestic dispute.

  Suit yourself, but don’t come crying to me if you end up facedown in the daisies.

  I continued to my Scooter. Clover overreacted sometimes. I was sure there was no danger at the spa. Besides, someone was killed there just last week. What are the odds th
at would happen again this soon?

  I pushed aside Clover’s ominous warning as I hopped on my scooter. Driving was a bit of a challenge, as I had to peer around the tall daisies I’d put in the basket in front of the handlebars. Luckily, it was too early for the island police to be out.

  The sun had barely risen, and the sky was splashed with pink clouds, the grass dotted with dew. Sprinklers kicked on around me as I zoomed up the road, cutting a path through the warm humid air. Birds flew about in the tree branches above me, their friendly chatter audible above the quiet electric motor of my scooter.

  Getting around on Eternal Springs is rather pleasant. The tourism board is militant about promoting a relaxed feel on the island, so no cars are allowed. Everyone drives scooters or golf carts or the occasional Segway. With the absence of gas fumes, the salty sea air is even more refreshing. I breathed deep as I parked my scooter at the spa and hefted out two of the flower-filled baskets.

  Arms brimming with brightly colored pansies and crisp white daises, I headed toward the hotel lobby. From speakers hidden in the trees surrounding the resort, annoying calypso music blared in an endless loop.

  The fragrance of warm chocolate coming from the gurgling fountain in the corner tickled my nose, but I averted my gaze. I didn’t dare look until my work was done. Once I’d finished my task, I’d reward myself by checking out the fountain and maybe even dipping one of the Lorna Doone cookies I’d heard were set out beside it for just that purpose.

  First I watered Opie, the giant ficus near the door. Poor thing had almost gone bone dry. I poured a generous amount, and his leaves turned up in a plant version of a thank-you. As an earth witch, I had a special bond with plants, not that I could talk to them like I could talk to Clover—well, not most of them—but I had a sense of their feelings, and Opie was definitely grateful.

  Next I pruned some of the hostas in the large planters set around the lobby and worked at filling in any empty spots with the new flowers, studiously keeping my gaze averted and trying to ignore the beckoning gurgle of the fountain. Thankfully it almost drowned out the music. They piped in the same background music all over the island, and listening to it over and over again could become tedious.

  Hmm … wait. Was the fountain supposed to be that loud?

  I snuck a glance.

  The fountain rose up from the floor like a chocolate skyscraper. Dark cocoa perfection trickled down the sides, making my mouth water. The perfect scene was marred by the fact that some of the chocolate had spilled and was now running down the side and puddling onto the floor. Lilly wouldn’t be happy about that. In fact, if she saw the mess, she’d throw a fit.

  I walked over to the corner, thinking I might be able to clean it up before Lilly saw it, but the closer I got, the more my intuition screamed that something wasn’t right. I couldn’t quite see from where I was, but it looked as if something had gotten lodged in the very bottom tier of the fountain, which was only a foot above floor level. Hopefully one of my plants hadn’t fallen in. A chocolate bath wouldn’t be good for the plant, not to mention that it would contaminate all that chocolate.

  As I came around the side of the fountain, I saw it wasn’t a plant. It was a red Ferragamo stiletto. Problem was, the stiletto contained a foot, which was attached to a leg. And the leg wasn’t alone. It was attached to a woman who was facedown in the back of the chocolate fountain. An obviously dead woman.

  This was not good. Not good at all.

  Tamping down the panic rising inside me, I backed away slowly then rushed blindly toward the desk across the lobby. My panic increased when I saw that Dylan Potter wasn’t at his post behind the counter.

  Right. Too early for Dylan. Too early for most anyone to be here. Except the kitchen staff.

  I pivoted and rushed toward the kitchen, pushing through the stainless steel swinging doors and colliding with a tall dark wall of solid, warm muscle. Tommy Martinelli.

  Tommy is the head chef of the resort restaurant and one hell of a pie baker. Not to mention one hell of a looker. It was strange that I’d run into him like this, because I’d been studiously avoiding him after the incident at the tiki bar. Although avoiding him seemed of little importance in the wake of finding a dead body.

  Tommy held my upper arms gently, steadying me. “Whoa there. What’s the rush? Can’t wait to see me?”

  “Body!” I squeaked out.

  His gaze drifted down, lingering only momentarily on my purple tank top before descending past my faded jean capris all the way down to my navy blue Keds. “I’ll say.”

  The way his voice deepened and his eyes darkened led me to believe that he wasn’t thinking about dead bodies.

  “No. In the lobby.”

  Concern flickered in his warm brown eyes. “Wait? What?”

  Unable to get my voice to work properly, I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the lobby and jabbed my finger in the direction of the chocolate fountain. “There. I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

  Tommy swore softly under his breath. He knelt beside the body, being careful not to disturb the chocolate. He placed his fingers against the woman’s neck, his expression now dire. “There’s no pulse, and her body’s cold. I’d say yes, she’s dead.” Slowly, he tipped the corpse on its side to see her face then inhaled sharply. “Crap! It’s Amelia Pendleton.”

  “Who?” I asked, confused. Living on a small island means that everyone here pretty much knows everyone else—both a blessing and a curse—except for the guests at the resort. They are a constantly revolving assortment of celebrities and other glitterati.

  He let the poor woman’s chocolate-covered face sink back into the fountain before straightening to wipe his hand on a dish towel tucked into the waistband of his white chef’s uniform. He didn’t look at me as he spoke, just kept scowling down at the body. “Amelia Pendleton. She was a guest here at the spa. Her husband’s a wealthy real estate developer in New York.”

  “Oh. That’s not good. Your aunt will be so upset that someone died in her fountain.” Lilly is Tommy’s aunt, well great-aunt actually, but the two are close. I guess creating food runs in the family.

  “That’s for sure,” Tommy said, exhaling slowly. “This could be bad. The Pendletons are not only loaded, they’re pretty influential.”

  That kind of went without saying, given the exclusivity of the resort and spa. If Eternal Springs has anything going for it, it’s the rich and famous clientele who spend big bucks to come here for rest, relaxation, recuperation, and the occasional nip and tuck to hide the years.

  The island offers unparalleled privacy—no internet and limited cell service. Then there are our highly prized mud pits and our legendary Fountain of Youth. Both are guaranteed to keep the guests looking younger and coming back for more, year after year.

  My head pounded with the start of a full-on stress headache. The smell of chocolate still flowing from the fountain was nauseating on top of the incessantly upbeat calypso music that now sounded rather creepy given the dead person lying in front of me.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “We call the cops. Keep an eye on the fountain for me, will you? I’m going to call on the landline behind the counter. Make sure no one messes with the area until law enforcement arrives.”

  I nodded dumbly, my gaze locking on that lonely red shoe on the floor. While Tommy headed off toward the other side of the lobby, I began to wonder just how Amelia Pendleton had ended up facedown in the fountain. Had she slipped on the floor and fallen in? Maybe hit her head and passed out, then drowned in the chocolate? What a bizarre way to go.

  It had to be an accident. Didn’t it? Because if not, that meant someone pushed her in. And who would want to drown someone in a chocolate fountain?

  Two

  It’s surprising how quickly a crime scene can fill with onlookers even when it’s too early for most to be out and about. Of course, our local law enforcer, Barnaby Sterling Montgomery—or Buddy as he insisted everyone call him—was taki
ng his sweet time. He was in no rush because, in addition to being the chief of police, he was also the mayor, the senior-center president, and had about half a dozen other titles. He had no one to answer to, so he moved on his own timetable.

  Naturally, everyone’s attention was drawn to the fountain with its growing puddle of chocolate and the now-disturbing gurgling noises. A tall big-boned woman dressed in teal silky lounging attire took one look at the shoes and screamed.

  She rushed to Amelia’s body and would’ve grabbed her if Tommy hadn’t stopped her. The woman was so upset she dropped her tiny purse, sending the contents all over the floor.

  Unsure what to do, I bent to gather her items for her: lipstick, pill pack, small mirror, dry-cleaner receipt, comb, tickets to the all-male review at the beach bar. After stuffing it all back into her purse, I straightened and handed it back to her only to find another woman, younger and with the same long blond hair and petite build as the victim, had joined us and was staring down at the dead body.

  “Mom?” she asked as if thinking the woman would answer.

  Tommy and I exchanged worried glances, expecting a big outburst. But she didn’t yell or scream like the other lady. Her eyes simply got large with tears as her gaze flicked from Tommy to me.

  “Is she …” Her voice trailed off as the other woman sniffled and began sobbing beside her.

  I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh no,” She covered her face with her hands, and I braced myself for uncontrolled sobbing. But after a few seconds, she sucked in a breath and turned to the other woman.