Mayhem and Murder: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries Book 4 Read online

  He glanced toward the fridge like it was full of gold bricks. "I trust there will still be beer when I get back."

  "I'll make sure of it," I told him as he bent down to give me a kiss goodbye. "We have to feed the horses, and Rae'll be here with pizza in a little bit. I'll save you some."

  "Thanks, sweetie." He touched the tip of my nose with his finger and gave me another quick peck, then looked around the table and sighed. "And please, do your best not to find any more dead bodies before I can get back."

  CHAPTER SIX

  THANK GOODNESS WE HAD some empty stalls at the moment and didn't have to deal with the one that had now been dubbed the dead-dude stall. I crossed my fingers the name wouldn't stick, but I wasn't holding my breath. I mean, the name had much more flare than "the last stall on the left."

  Somehow, I didn't think potential boarders would see it that way, though. That was a marketing mess for another time.

  It took Hunter longer than he expected to finish up the paperwork because he had problems tracking down next-of-kin. Marcus's father had passed when he was small and he didn't have any siblings, cousins. From what Hunter could tell, didn't even a girlfriend to notify.

  He'd quit his job when his mom died, and if he'd ever worked, there was no trail. According to Gabi, he'd been content to spend Mama's money rather than make his own.

  After hunting through every official record he could access and coming up empty, Hunter ended up leaving a message for the family attorney and called it good enough. It was almost nine by the time he got back to the farm and Raeann had already left since she had to work the next morning, so we settled in and watched Thor.

  I figured between Hunter, Chris Hemsworth, and a really good bottle of cab, I'd be able to forget a nuclear holocaust for a couple of hours, so a dead body would be a piece of cake. For the most part, it worked.

  The next morning was beautiful, and I decided to take my bike to work. I'd never been on a motorcycle until I met Hunter. He rode a Suzuki GSXR sport bike and, since Cody rode, I'd agreed to a couples ride one evening after an extra glass of bravado. When the double date rolled around, I couldn't back out. I was terrified for the first five minutes, then became a die-hard fan in the next twenty.

  The more I rode with him, the more I’d wanted my own, and I'd finally worked my way up to buying one. Though I have to say, Hunter was worse than a mama duck when it came to teaching me to ride, going so far as to buy a dirt bike for me to learn on in the front pasture. I swear, I'd be wearing bubble wrap if it were up to him.

  Last month, I'd finally taken the step and bought a bike of my own. It wasn't new, but it was pretty—a 2013 GSXR 600. I'd gotten it cheap because the owner had dropped it, denting the tank and scraping up the ugly yellow paint.

  That didn't last long, though. Skeeter, Hunter, and Matt had pulled together and pimped it for me. Now it was electric blue with a herd of running horses ghost-painted onto the tank and fairing. They'd even painted my helmet to match.

  They weather had been too cold to ride until recently, so for the most part, I'd had to look at it in the garage. Thank God for spring. I pulled on my helmet and fired it up, feeling the stress of the day before melting off me as I navigated around the curves and opened it up a little on one of the straights. I felt great when I pulled up to the shop.

  The peace didn't last long, though. I'd no sooner made it inside when Coralee and Alyse, her nail tech, barreled through the front door and Belle floated through the wall that adjoined the Clip N Curl.

  As always, Coralee's huge 80s hair defied gravity and all other rules of nature and barely moved as she whooshed in.

  "What did it look like?" Alyse asked. "Was it totally gross?"

  Erol, the man who'd owned the shop before me, floated through the door of my backroom. "Was what gross?" He looked at my jeans and ratty t-shirt and sniffed. "What on earth are you wearing?"

  Coralee scowled at both of them. "For the love of Pete, y'all. At least give the poor girl a chance to put her stuff down before you go interrogatin' her!"

  I tipped a corner of my mouth up. She may be nosy, but the niceties had to be observed. I slid my purse under the counter, admiring the rear side of my logo as dust mites filtered through the sunlight shining through the front windows. I motioned them to the back where I had a little kitchen area and Erol tilted his head. "Interrogatin' her about what?"

  "She found a dead body at the farm last night." Alyse's eyes were sparkling; she hadn't learned the finer nuances of digging for dirt and still tended to let her enthusiasm shine through. Coralee, on the other hand, was a pro; her expression was the perfect combination of concerned and regretful.

  "C'mon back the kitchen, guys. I'll put on a pot of coffee and fill you in." When Erol had owned the building, back before he was murdered, the place had been a sandwich shop, so it had a nice kitchen area in the back. It was perfect for me because, as a kitchen witch, I loved to bake, plus it provided a nice stream of income.

  Raeann owned a kitschy little coffee shop called Brew4U that was only a couple blocks away, and I made all of the pastries for her. Before I bought the shop, I'd made everything at the farm and hauled it all the way to town. Now I could just bake right there while I worked the store.

  I also had a nice work area off the main showroom, if you could call it a showroom, that is. Most of my pieces sold before I could even get them to the front room so there was a lot of bare space, but I was slowly building an inventory.

  Lately, I'd developed a fascination with smaller items—turning old soda signs into clocks and that sort of thing. I loved working on big pieces, but the smaller ones gave me immediate gratification because I could have them done in a few hours versus a few days or even weeks. My first piece, a vanity that I'd made from an old door and an end table, had taken me nearly two weeks to finish, mostly because of the learning curve, but I was getting faster.

  I pushed through the door and kicked on the espresso machine. Coralee wrinkled her nose. "I thought you were makin' coffee."

  I rolled my eyes. "I am. You just don't know what good coffee is."

  Belle hmphed. "In my day, we made coffee in a percolator on the stove. Now that was coffee. Strong, full-flavored, and simple."

  They had the same complaint every time they came to visit, so I fired up the regular coffeepot and set about putting the grounds and water in so I wouldn't have to listen to Coralee complain.

  "Now," I said as I hit the switch on my espresso machine to make myself a cappuccino. "To answer your question first, Alyse, yes. It was gross. But not in the way you think. He was face-down in a pile of poop. I couldn't see anything other than the back of his head, but that was gross enough for me. No blood or guts, though."

  "Okay," Erol said, scrunching his brow. "I'm gonna need a little back story here." For several months after he was killed, he hadn't left the shop. We'd all just assumed he moved back to Atlanta, so it was a bit of a shock when Belle, Addy, and Cheri Lynn—the third non-corporeal girl in our group—dragged him out of the wall the night we were checking the place out after I bought it.

  He still tended to be a homebody, especially on Sunday nights when all the good reality shows were on. I left the TV on for him when I left for the night, and he was good to go.

  I gave a quick rundown of the events of the night before, which was really all I had to offer any of them. "And that's all there was to it," I finished.

  Coralee thought for a minute as she poured herself a cup of coffee and reached into the fridge for milk. "So this guy has no family, no girlfriend, nothin'. He comes over here, pretty as you please, and hooks up to your trailer, then somebody chokes him to death with a set of spurs."

  "Yup," I said, stirring caramel flavoring into my cappuccino. "That pretty much sums it up. Oh, and you shoulda seen the boots this guy was wearin'." I rolled my eyes. Hand-tooled leather and alligator, with the hide dyed forest green and the leather dyed red."

  Erol shuddered. "Please tell me he wasn't wearin'
em outside his pants."

  I nodded. "Sure was."

  Belle slanted her eyes at him. "What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?"

  He shook his head like she was missing the obvious. "Any man that'd wear somethin' that gaudy has to be shady. He was already committin' one crime against humanity—not to mention cows and alligators—just goin' out in public that way. There's no tellin' what he was into behind closed doors." He waggled a finger. "Hear what I'm tellin' you. I don't know what he was doin', but somethin' bad will come to light sooner or later."

  I couldn't disagree, especially considering what Gabi had told us about him. The question was whether or not it was something bad enough to get him killed.

  Coralee was all ears. This story had everything she'd need to keep the gossip mill grinding for at least a week: murder, the hint of shady dealings, horse thieving.

  Now all we needed to do was put all the pieces together and figure out why it all happened on my farm.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHEN CORALEE WAS CONVINCED she'd squeezed every useful drop of info out of me that she could, they cleared out and left me to work. I flipped the TV to the cooking channel for Erol and dug into a box of odds and ends I'd picked up the day before. Two antique banister toppers in it first drew my eye, then when I took a closer look and saw several painted ceramic knobs and old-timey cabinet pulls, I didn't look any further. I got the whole box for twelve bucks, so I was a happy camper.

  I was pleasantly surprised to find several pieces of costume jewelry in the bottom of the box and set them aside to give to Anna Mae for her shop. I considered keeping a set of crystal teardrop earrings, but decided against it and put them in the pile with the rest.

  When I flipped the box over to break it down for recyling, something sharp pierced my finger. A small spoon fishing lure was embedded in my skin and caught the light as jerked my hand back.

  Scowling I pulled it out and tossed it on the counter away from the other stuff so I wouldn't jab myself with it again later. Erol glanced at me when I yelped, then at the lure. "Was it rusty?"

  "No, but it was sharp." I examined my finger and squeezed it.

  "Too far from your heart to kill ya, then. Suck it up." He turned back to the TV, where Bobby Flay was putting a barbecue beat-down on some chick.

  I lowered my brows. Easy to say when you're already dead and can't feel pain.

  After I tucked the inventory I was keeping away in the proper cubbies—Matt and Hunter had built me a storage cabinet with different-sized drawers and cabinets as a grand-opening gift—I returned to the kitchen and washed my hands. Rae needed muffins and turnovers for Brew, so I figured I'd do those then get to work on a set of rusted cast-iron chairs I was cleaning up.

  I was just pulling the flour and sugar out when Hunter texted and asked me to come in for my formal interview with him and Smitty. Since I didn't have much to say, it took me longer to walk to the courthouse and back than it did to actually give my statement. I was back inside of thirty minutes, and got to work.

  Four boxes of pastries and one clean chair later, I glanced at my phone and was surprised to see it was well past lunch time. My back groaned in protest as I pushed to my feet and wiped my forehead with my forearm, careful not to get paint thinner on my face. I stripped off my gloves and took a big swig from my water bottle, and my stomach rumbled.

  Raeann was supposed to come get the pastries an hour before but she must have gotten busy. I scooped up my purse and slid the boxes of goodies off the counter, then pushed the door open with my butt. The cool spring breeze felt good and dried some of the sweat that was gluing strands of my hair to my neck.

  "Hey! This is a business you know," Erol said, looking pointedly at the little clock sign on the door. I sighed and, balancing the boxes in one arm, twisted the hands to let potential customers know that I'd be back in forty-five minutes. Not that I had that many walk-ins yet.

  Most of my stuff sold by word of mouth before I even finished it and I sold some of the smaller pieces on Etsy. Still, I was starting to garner some attention and did have a few larger pieces in the store, so I supposed he was right; it was time to start running it like a store. Kind of, at least.

  I'd already decided on limited hours because, as a one-woman show, I could only make so much. I chose my projects carefully, doing mostly big-ticket items so that as long as I sold one or two a week, I was golden and the smaller items were just gravy. I also had the farm to consider and wasn't a fan of leaving the place for too long without somebody being there to keep an eye on the place.

  The one thing about horses was that Murphy's Law applied in spades; if they could get tangled in it, fall into it, or otherwise get themselves into a fix, they would. Matt, Shelby, Addy and I split the duties so that somebody was there at least once every few hours just to check. You know, just to make sure no dead bodies appeared or anything.

  The sun felt good on my face, so I decided to walk the few blocks to Brew4U. It had been so cold that it was nice to finally have a hint of warm weather. I loved spring in Georgia. Even though our winters were mild compared to up north, it still got cold. It also got hot enough to melt plastic in the summer, so the in-between months were awesome.

  Brew was unusually busy, especially for a Monday, so I jumped behind the counter and started making coffees after I put the pastries in the case. It only took a few minutes to clear the line and after, I made myself a Lively Latte. Raeann's an earth witch and she has mad skills with herbs and potions. I don't know what goes into her Lively blend, but it works. Back when I was working double shifts at Bobbie Sue's barbecue place, plus baking my butt off to keep Rae stocked, sleep was a luxury.

  "So, find any more dead bodies today?" Rae asked, hip-checking me. "Maybe one stuffed under the deck or hanging in the loft?"

  I scrunched my face at her. "Ha Ha. Very Funny, and no. I've managed to make it all day without finding so much as a dead bug. Keep it up, though. I know people."

  She grinned. "Yeah, except I know the same people you do."

  Rae's my cousin as well as my best friend. We grew up together and she's as much a sister to me as Shelby is. When she opened the shop, before she could afford to hire help, I often filled in, as well as provided the baked goods. We worked together to help each other get by, just like family is supposed to do.

  She got off to a good start and it wasn't long before was able to hire Angel, a good kid who turned out to be a life-saver for Rae.

  "So seriously, though. Have you heard anything from Hunter? Do they have any idea what this guy was doing at your place, or who offed him?"

  "Nope," I said, "haven't heard a word, other than I went in first thing and gave him my official statement. I figured he would have called by now with something, at least, but I lost track of time at the shop."

  We'd sat around and speculated the night before, but it just didn't make any sense.

  I popped the lid onto my coffee cup, and made my way to the door. "I'm going over to the Cat for lunch. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

  The Cheshire Cat was the best pub in town and served burgers to die for. It would be dead this time of day, so I could eat in peace, either reading or shootin' the breeze with Monty, the owner.

  "Nah. I'm good. I'll have a sandwich here. See you tonight?" She wiped down the last of the condiments bar and shoved everything back into place.

  I tilted my head, trying to remember what plans we'd made, then gave myself a mental forehead slap. Crap on a cracker. With everything else going on, I'd completely forgotten that it was Ms. Monday.

  Our little crew got together at Fancy's, a great little dive bar on the outskirts of town. Cheap beer, killer wings, and a couple of pool tables. The perfect place to get together to bitch, moan, and celebrate our successes. Cheaper and more effective than therapy.

  "Yeah," I said. "Of course. Have you talked to anybody to see who's goin'?"

  "As far as I know, me, you, Anna Mae, Cheri Lynn, Camille, and mayb
e Bobbie Sue. Coralee can't make it because she and Buddy are goin' over to Rockport to the drive-in. She was in earlier for some, uh, special blends." She waggled her eyebrows.

  Oh lord. Well, at least she'd be smiling the next day.

  "What about TJ?" TJ was a girl I'd met a few months previous when I bought some furniture—and some trouble—from her Aunt's estate. That's another long story, but to sum it up, the power of persuasion that she'd always chalked up to great people skills ended up being a witchy gift, though she did have a great personality and we easy to get along with. Her talent complemented her well.

  She ended up keeping her aunt's house, partly because she loved it and it was a place for her to escape, but mostly because her aunt ended up showing up post-funeral right when the realtor was giving a tour to a couple from up north. Apparently, the woman was talking about covering up the two-hundred-year-old hardwoods with carpet and closing in the veranda. For her part, Nora held her peace, but when the chick mentioned ripping out the rose bushes, that was it.

  They say the woman fainted dead away when Nora burst into sight, hands on hips, and roared, "Over my dead body will you touch my grandmammy's roses!"

  It was an unfortunate but effective choice of words. The realtor refused to go back in the house, and Nora introduced herself to her niece. TJ was adopted and hadn't known Nora in life. She also hadn't known that she was a witch, so she was a little behind the eight ball on the learning curve.

  When she came down, which was at least one long weekend a month, she had a lot to talk about on Ms. Mondays.

  "I don't know," she said. "Haven't talked to her."

  I pulled out my phone and flipped through my contacts. "I'll find out. You wanna come out to the farm and get ready?"

  "Of course. I'll be out around six."

  If ever there was a week that called for a ladies' night, this was it.