Spell on Earth Page 2

  “Franny, please. I know you’re upset about my mother, but falling apart in the lobby won’t help her now.”

  Franny, who appeared to be in her midfifties—about the same age as the victim—sniffled, tears running down her flushed cheeks. “I told Amelia not to wander around this island by herself so early in the morning. Especially after we saw that strange little man last night running around throwing salt everywhere.”

  “Throwing salt?” Tommy asked, brows knitted.

  Oh no, that did not bode well. Remember how I mentioned the “hole” that was left behind when the St. Joan of Arc school burned down? Anything could come out of that hole, and rumors of a little man throwing salt made me suspicious. Maybe it was just someone short. I hoped so, because I did not need to add wrangling a salt-throwing creature back through the hole to my “to-do” list.

  “Maybe it was sand,” I suggested, more to convince myself than anyone else.

  “Sand?” Tommy gave me a flat look. “Why in the world would someone run around sprinkling sand?”

  “How should I know?” I shuddered and looked away, hoping to avoid any more questions. My gaze landed back on Amelia Pendleton’s body then drifted to something pink next to the fountain. In my initial shock of finding the body I must’ve missed seeing the purse.

  It must be Amelia’s, given the fact that the lovely ballet-pink leather perfectly matched her tank top. I recognized the style. It was a Hermes Birkin bag, and it looked like the real deal. A bag like that would’ve cost more than my entire cottage. By some miracle, the bag hadn’t been covered in chocolate like the rest of the victim’s things. Good thing, because I’d hate to see a nice bag like that ruined.

  The wail of a single siren severed any more thoughts I might’ve had about the expensive purse. Buddy’s golf cart pulled up outside. It was easy to recognize, as it was covered in a purple-green-and-orange knit cozy. The cozy was supplied by his wife, Mitzi, who in fact sat in the passenger seat of the golf cart, working on what looked like a cable-knit sweater.

  The resort’s lobby soon became a hive of activity as Buddy lumbered in with his temporary deputy in tow. Eternal Springs didn’t have much of a crime rate—well it hadn’t until lately—but Buddy had used the excuse of the last murder to justify hiring a deputy who just happened to be his nephew. I hoped Buddy didn’t have more nephews waiting in the wings; now that there had been a second death, he might want a whole force of pimply-faced deputized relatives.

  The deputy set about cordoning off the area to keep the growing crowd of gawkers at bay. He was barely finished when the medical examiner, Dr. Abigail Marley, showed up looking angry that we’d roused her to work so early. Abigail was actually the plastic surgeon at the spa. She specialized in fillers and Botox, but because the small island rarely had any deaths, she doubled as medical examiner. Her face contorted strangely as she surveyed the crowd. I imagined she was scowling, but she was one of her own best Botox customers, so it came out as more of a grimace.

  “Give her some space,” the deputy said, using his best Barney Fife tone. The guy even resembled Don Knotts, with his skinny body and hawkish face. I didn’t even know the guy’s real name because everyone simply referred to him as “the deputy.”

  Tommy was still beside me, thank goodness, and on my other side stood the victim’s daughter—Corinne, I’d heard Tommy call her—and the still-sobbing friend, Franny. From my spot I heard Abigail dictating her findings into her small handheld recorder as she worked.

  “Victim appears to be in her midsixties,” Abigail said as she knelt to examine the victim, careful not to get chocolate on her white capri pants. “Based on the crow’s-feet, that is. Though she has had some cosmetic work done if the absence of marionette lines is any indication.”

  I shook my head and snorted softly. It sounded as if she were giving one of her plastic surgery consults instead of examining a murder victim.

  “Also, the victim’s age is apparent,” she continued her dictation, “by the evidence of batwings on her arms.”

  My attention lapsed at that point, and I glanced over at the victim’s purse again. It rested on its side, some of the contents spilling out. Abigail must’ve knocked it over with her foot as she crawled around the body.

  Squinting, I saw the usual things—lipstick, mirror, eyeliner, aspirin, used candy wrappers, and a room key. Then a flash of bright color caught my eye, and I leaned a bit closer over the yellow crime-scene tape. It was one of those little neon-purple drink umbrellas, the paper kind favored by tropical resorts the world over. The same kind that our own tiki bar, Coconuts, used. If I remembered right, Sunday nights were purple, meaning our victim, Amelia Pendleton, must’ve been at the bar last evening.

  I tucked that interesting bit of information away for later consideration.

  “About done there, Marley?” Buddy asked in a gruff, disinterested voice. He stood behind Abigail, watching her work. He couldn’t very well squat down beside her because his protruding belly prohibited it. He scowled, his brows drawn together in a look of pure annoyance. “We need to get this wrapped up soon so I can attend to other business.”

  Abigail didn’t even look up at him, occupied with her examination of the body and the victim’s clothes. “The victim’s outfit appears to be intact and adorable—lovely Fendi leggings and a Lilly Pulitzer tank top. Designer shoes too. Stiletto pumps. Salvatore Ferragamo.”

  A gust of chilled air blew over me from above, and I shivered and crossed my arms. Or perhaps it was the shock of it all settling in, given that it was sunny outside. I shouldn’t have been cold. My eyes were drawn back to the purple umbrella.

  Amelia had been at Coconuts last night. I wondered how late she’d stayed, as it could get a bit chilly here late at night. It’s not as if we are a warm tropical island. We are off the coast of Jersey after all. She was wearing that flimsy tank top. She must have died in the wee hours of the morning, or someone would have noticed her here in the lobby. Had she gone somewhere else after Coconuts? If so, where?

  “Aha!” Abigail shouted, plucking something off the victim’s arm and holding it close to her face. She set her recorder aside and reached into the pocket of her lab coat to pull out a lighted magnifying glass.

  “What is it?” Buddy asked, giving Abigail a skeptical look. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s a hair,” Abigail said. “Too wispy to be human. Arctic white. Looks like rabbit.”

  Buddy gave an aggrieved sigh. “I don’t see how one tiny hair is relevant here, Doc. From the look of things, this woman tripped on those crazy, impractical high heels and fell into the fountain and drowned. Unfortunate but understandable.”

  “Drowned?” Abigail straightened and tucked her things back into the pockets of her lab coat. “This victim was clobbered over the head, knocked unconscious, then purposely pushed into that fountain. This was no accident. This was murder.”

  Brimstone and fire! It was just as I’d feared. Another murder. The rest of the coven back on the mainland would not be happy about this, not at all. Add in the fact that a small man throwing salt had been seen running around the island and it did not bode well for a leisurely week. I sincerely hoped the little man did not have white hair.

  But all of that wasn’t as important as Lilly. Lilly was as sweet as her chocolates, and now her fountain was ruined. All that delicious milk chocolate gone to waste. I wanted to be the one to tell her the news so I could soften the blow before she heard it through the grapevine.

  Making my way outside, I stood in the sunshine and inhaled deeply, letting the stress roll off.

  The sound of footsteps made me turn to see Skye, one of my coven mates, approaching. Her expression looked as pugnacious as usual. Figures Skye would show up at the first sign of trouble. She owned the newspaper, The Town Croaker, and the sound of police sirens drew her like a rat drawn toward garbage.

  “Zola.” Skye stopped a few feet from me, her trusty notepad and pen in hand, her glitter badge sparkl
ing, her wispy pale-blond hair flittering in the lazy breeze like a model on a photo shoot. Wait a minute, there was no breeze. She was doing that purposely to make herself look good. While my witchy powers controlled earthen elements, Skye controlled the air. She wasn’t above using the wind to her advantage. “I heard the call come in for this case over the police radio and decided to come down and have a look for myself. Anything interesting?”

  I shrugged, not really wanting to share my intel with anyone, least of all nosy Skye. “Not really. A tourist drowned in the chocolate fountain.”

  She raised a perfectly arched brow at me. “And you don’t think that qualifies as interesting?”

  I did, but again, I wasn’t telling her that. Nor was I really keen to have her walk inside where Tommy still stood talking with Buddy. Not that I was jealous or anything. I mean, I hardly cared which women Tommy looked at, even if they were as beautiful as Skye. That one little kiss Tommy and I had shared at the tiki bar didn’t mean a thing. Not to me anyway.

  I looked away and may or may not have caused one of the plants I’d placed on the stone wall earlier to tip over and cover Skye’s perfectly white high-top sneakers with black soil.

  “Ooops,” I said, feigning surprise. “I’m so sorry about that. Must be your wind.”

  “Right.” Skye gave me a narrowed glare that said she knew I’d done that on purpose. “My wind.”

  I plastered on an innocent look. “Did you pass gas?”

  “Ha ha. Funny.” With that, she turned and stalked off into the lobby, her rubber soles squeaking on the tiles.

  Of course, her retaliation came swiftly, in the form of a stronger gust of wind that caused me to stumble and fall to the pavement right in front of Buddy’s golf cart, where Mitzi was still clacking away with her knitting needles.

  “What’s going on in there?” Mitzi asked without even looking up from her project.

  “A woman drowned in the chocolate fountain last night,” I said.

  She frowned, not even missing a stitch. “Oh dear! I guess I should start on another casket cozy.”

  “Maybe make a bunch of them.” With the way the deaths were piling up on the island, Mitzi might be very busy.

  I stood, brushed myself off, hopped on my scooter, and made a beeline for the chocolate shop before anyone else could break the news to Lilly.

  Three

  When I walked into Sweet Satisfaction, Lilly was behind the counter, counting down her cash drawer before opening. Her shop had a sort of old-world vibe, with dark hardwood floors and antique oak display cases.

  The walls were covered with large chalkboards patterned in a rainbow of pastel hues presenting the items for sale and drawings of little cartoon people or animals. The stars of her show, however, were her chocolates that beckoned from behind the glass of the display cases.

  Round tables draped in white linen cloths held tiered trays with ready-made boxes of assortments and wrapped candies. The rich smell of chocolate oozed from every corner of the room, threatening to add an inch to my hips without me even allowing a chocolate past my lips.

  Lilly glanced up as I walked in. Same warm brown eyes as Tommy, same good looks, though her hair was now threaded with gray where his nearly glinted with midnight blue it was so black. No denying they were from the same family tree, though separated by a branch or two.

  “Good morning, Zola dear,” Lilly said, counting out dimes one by one. “Looks like things are hopping at the resort, eh? Should be good for business.”

  “Uh, yeah. About that, Lilly,” I said, coming to stand before her at the counter. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but something happened last night in the lobby of the resort.”

  “Oh dear.” Lilly looked up from the cash drawer. “It’s not my fountain, is it? I spent all day setting that up.”

  “Well, actually, it is.” I winced on her behalf. “You see, one of the guests apparently took a tumble last night and ended up face-first in the chocolate.”

  “No!” Lilly slammed the register shut and started back around the counter. “That’s terrible! Why, I need to get over there and assess the damage. If one of the filters gets clogged on that fountain, the whole thing can shut down or worse. And if there’s chocolate everywhere, I’ll have a real mess to clean up.”

  “Wait, Lilly.” I took her arm as she passed. “It’s worse. The woman who fell into it … well, she’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Lilly blinked at me a moment, her expression astonished. “That can’t be right.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Buddy and Abigail are there now collecting her body.”

  “Oh, no.” Lilly’s steps faltered, and I helped her into a nearby chair, afraid the shock might be too much for her. “They don’t think I had anything to do with it, do they? What if they suspect something’s wrong with my candy? What if they think my chocolate killed that poor woman?”

  “No, no. It’s fine, Lilly. No one thinks that.” I did my best to comfort her, not mentioning the fact that Abigail did indeed think it was murder and that the victim had been forcibly drowned in the fountain after being knocked on the head. Why the culprit had picked Lilly’s fountain as the instrument of death, I had no clue, but I couldn’t imagine it would reflect badly on her candy store. At least I hoped it wouldn’t.

  “Who was the victim?” Lilly asked at last.

  “A guest at the hotel. Tommy said her name was Amelia Pendleton.”

  “Oh dear.” Lilly’s voice shook.

  “Did you know her?”

  “No … not really. She … umm … came into my shop the other day and bought some items.” Lilly frowned. “That’s the only way I know her.” Lilly sounded incredibly shaken that someone who had recently been in her shop had been touched by death. I put my arm around her to soothe her. “She seemed nice but struck me at that time as the kind of woman who always wants to look younger than she is,” Lilly said.

  I couldn’t disagree, based on the twenty-something-year-old’s outfit Amelia had been wearing and the amount of touch-ups listed by Abigail.

  “I’ve never understood people disliking their age,” Lilly said, shaking her head. “I like my wrinkles. Sign of wisdom, my grandmother always used to say. Besides, all my time’s used up in making chocolates and candies and knitting.” She pointed to the ever-present canvas bag with yarn and knitting needles spilling out of the top. “But I know there is big money in the business of restoring youth.”

  I patted her shoulder. “Of course, dear.”

  Lilly’s normally cheerful face was downright glum, her thin shoulders sagging. “I just hope this doesn’t reflect badly on the shop. It’s not easy these days to make enough to pay the bills.”

  Concern for my friend overwhelmed me. “Lilly, is everything all right? With you and the candy store?”

  “Yes, yes. Everything’s fine, dear.” She sighed. “But business has been a little off lately. Seems all these tourists want something extra, something more for their money than what we can provide. Tommy thinks I ought to fix the place up more. Modernize it, he says. But I just don’t know.” Lilly looked lovingly around the room at the shiny hardwood floors and immaculate glass and wooden display cases. “I like it the way it is. But enough about me; what about you, dear?”

  The shift in topic took me by surprise.

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s been thirteen years since that nasty business at the convent took place. Not once have I heard you mention renewing your vows, dear.” Lilly gave me a narrowed stare and a sly smile. “Maybe it’s time for me to fix you up instead. Find you a good man to take care of you.”

  I wasn’t sure what left me more speechless: the fact that she’d brought up the old school—or convent, as the locals believed—that had burned to the ground or the fact that she was suggesting I needed her help with my love life.

  Let’s get one thing straight. I was not ever a nun. The convent school had only been a front for the real witches’ academy. I wasn’t
allowed to discuss that subject with those outside my coven, however, so I focused on her second suggestion. “And who exactly would you be fixing me up with?”

  “Why my nephew Tommy, of course. He’s such a lovely boy. Takes good care of me and means the world to me. I’d like to see him with a nice girl.”

  My eyes narrowed. Had she heard about the incident at the tiki bar? I couldn’t imagine where she would have heard it, unless Evian announced something over the radio. I wouldn’t put it past her. My sister witch owned the island radio station, HEX 66.6, and there was no telling what she might blurt out on the air. That would explain the funny looks and snide comments I’d been getting all around town.

  But if Tommy wanted to go out with me, I was sure he’d ask. Being set up on a date by his elderly aunt was hardly romantic. And besides, I couldn’t exactly get involved with someone anyway. Getting involved meant sharing secrets, and I had one big secret I could never share: the fact that I was a witch. But before I could discourage her from any fix-up, Lilly had changed subjects again.

  “Now, that’s strange,” Lilly said. I glanced up to find her staring at an empty spot in the display case. “I know I filled that dish up with salted caramels last night before I left.”

  “Maybe someone bought them last evening.” I stood. “Did you check the receipts with your assistant?”

  “Yes, I did.” Lilly frowned. “I know they’re popular, but it’s hard to believe all those caramels just disappeared overnight.” Lilly shook her head then chuckled. “Oh, well. At least something in here is flying off the shelves. I can hardly keep track of those sea-salted caramels.”

  I’d had some, and they were incredibly delicious.

  “Is there anything I can help you with before you open?” I asked.

  “If you wouldn’t mind refilling that bowl with caramels, I’d appreciate it, dear.” Lilly pulled a fresh tray from the storage room in back and handed it to me. “Thank you.”