A Southern Charms Cozy Potluck Box Set Read online

Calling on my old tried and true ways, I waited for a glowing thread to appear. One shimmered to life and flickered with weak energy. In haste, I bound it to me and let it pull me forward.

  “Where is she going?” asked Ms. Alma.

  Ben shushed her, not wanting to interrupt me. I felt his hand guide me a couple of times, hopefully keeping me from bruising my head or other body parts. I took careful blind steps downstairs, still clinging to the last of the thread. It cut off and died with a suddenness that startled me. Opening my eyes, I found myself in the middle of the pantry room.

  Ms. Alma stared at me with a puzzled look from the doorway. “Do you think it's in there?”

  “No.” I wiped the sweat from my brow. “It's not here.” The chill of fear settled over me.

  “You mean, it’s not this room.” Ben stepped inside to inspect the pantry contents.

  I shook my head. “What rooms did I go into?”

  “That's the thing,” he stated with concern. “You went into every single room. I thought your talents were more specific.”

  I clutched my stomach from the void of energy as much as the pit of despair that widened inside it. “They usually are.”

  “What should I do now?” asked Ms. Alma.

  Ben placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Turning to his client, he advised her, “I think we should go down to the warden station and file a report.”

  I couldn't turn and face them yet. Tears stung the corner of my eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn't help you,” I croaked out.

  If this had been my job, I would be a pauper. Twice now, I’d tried to work my magic and failed. Something was wrong with me, and if I couldn't fix it, then I would lose the biggest part of my identity. For all my complaints over the years, I regretted not having what I once wished away.

  “Come on, Charli.” Ben tugged on me. “I’ll take you back to your bicycle. Call me later to let me know you're okay.”

  I grabbed his hand before he left. “Don't tell anybody about this,” I pleaded.

  “I won’t.” The concern in his eyes told me that he wouldn't wait long before he made that statement untrue. I had limited time to work out my issues.

  I found Matt rocking on my porch when I got home. The sight of my brother instantly relieved some of my doubts and concerns.

  Growing up, he had been the one to help me develop my magic instead of being afraid of it. Perhaps he'd have an idea of how I could fix it now. And since I knew him better than most people, I had good blackmail material to keep him quiet about it.

  “Why so glum, chum?” I asked him.

  My brother rocked and frowned. “TJ won't let me help. She says I spook the horses, but I think that's just an excuse to keep me away,” he complained.

  The fact that he wouldn’t look at me clued me in. “What did you say or do?”

  “Nothing that wasn't true.”

  “Like what?” I pressed.

  He threw his hands in the air. “I told her that she shouldn't be ridin’ the horses.”

  “That isn't new, and the doc laid down that rule not too long ago. Why would your repeating it upset her?”

  My brother grimaced. “I might have said it in a different way.”

  Tired of his avoidance, I smacked the back of his head. “Just spit it out.”

  He sighed. “I told her she was getting too big to ride.”

  I sucked my breath through my teeth. “Whoa, that's bad. I'm surprised you can sit down.”

  “I’m lucky that she doesn't use the same hex you used to on me with too much of a free hand.” He slapped my arm in retaliation. “She prefers the silent treatment, and I have to admit, her not talking to me hurts even more.”

  “You think you'll ever learn to keep your mouth shut?” I asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope so, or I'm going to be a dead man with two women in the house.”

  My loud squeal echoed through the air. “You're having a baby girl?” I jumped up and down.

  My brother’s cheeks reddened. “I am. It's my luck in life to be surrounded by girls.”

  I smothered him with kisses and hugs until he couldn't take anymore. He fought back and captured my head in his arm, rubbing a noogie into my scalp. “Cut it out,” I cried.

  “Never.” He rubbed with more ferocity until I pushed away from him.

  I let a sparkle of energy form at my fingertips, and he held up his hands. “Hey, don't hurt the father of your future niece.”

  Reminded that I was going to be an aunty to a little girl, I giggled in glee, forgetting for a second about my own worries. I sat down in the chair next to him, rocking away and marveling at the twists and turns life had brought the two of us.

  “How am I going to do it?” asked Matt after a few quiet moments.

  “Do what?”

  “Raise a daughter. I'm a boy. I know about boy things. What if I fail her?” The fear in his voice cut through me.

  I patted his hand. “You won’t. I promise.”

  “How do you know?” he asked in a quiet tone.

  “Because you were a fantastic brother to me. You took my differences in stride, and instead of making me feel like a freak and an outsider, you made me stronger. And that's all you have to do.” I squeezed his hand three times, my lip trembling as I reassured my brother. Blood didn't bond us, but love sure did.

  “Thanks,” Matt choked out. He cleared his throat. “I needed that.”

  My concerns could wait. Tonight, I needed to help my brother locate his courage instead of fixing my magic. “No problem. Although I'll deny saying anything nice to you to anyone else. Especially to little Charlotte, Junior.”

  “In your dreams, Birdy.” My brother’s mischievous smile returned to his face.

  “Don't call me that,” I insisted out of habit. “Now, go apologize to your pregnant wife.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nana always said that ignoring a problem means it never gets solved. I decided to prove her wrong by joining Moss and the other pixies in cleaning up one of the upstairs rooms instead of dealing with my fears about my magic. A little bit of the fairy’s gray-green dust settled over me whenever she checked on my progress.

  “I can do that for you, Miss Charli,” she insisted.

  I picked up a new pile of stuff to go through. “No, no. It's all right.”

  More dust spread over the papers in front of me. “If you're unhappy with our work—”

  I interrupted her. “It's not that. I like cleaning,” I lied. What I liked was not dwelling on my failures and having something else to focus on.

  Both of us perked up at the sound of someone knocking on my door. When I left the room, high-pitched squeals erupted. I’d bet the pixies were lodging their complaints with Moss about my presence. My roommate had been smart enough to stay out of their way.

  Leaving them behind, I bounced downstairs and opened the door. “Mason,” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  A storm of emotions brewed inside of me. I'd wanted nothing more than to have him want me to work with him. At the same time, with my talents on the fritz, what help could I give?

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He looked past me. “Charli, I'm actually here to see—”

  “Where are my manners,” I interrupted. “Please come in. May I get you a glass of iced tea?” I rambled nonsense, realizing how hungry I was to hear more about the case or to have an excuse to spend time with him.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He followed me inside, taking the time to examine my house. “It looks like things are coming together. It looks…nice. More like you.”

  “If you mean slightly dirty, a little disheveled, and barely passing, then I might agree with you. At least it's starting to feel like my home, although I'm not sure that my idea of home ever included a vampire roommate.” I held back the cringe at my poor attempt at a joke.

  “That's why I'm here,” Mason said.

  “Because you want a vampi
re for a roommate?”

  “No. I need to question him, if you could just direct me to where he is.”

  “Beau,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “What?” A muffled yell replied.

  “Don’t what me! Poof your bat behind down here. We've got company,” I shouted.

  Mason winced at our exchange. “Sounds like every home I've ever known,” he commented.

  The wooden stairs creaked under Beau’s feet as he marched down to meet us. “Detective, are you here to take Miss Charli out? I heard her muttering something about a date earlier.”

  My hand flew up to cover the vampire’s mouth. “I never said anything like that.” I lowered my voice and narrowed my eyes at Beau. “You, shush.”

  Mason shifted in uncomfortable silence, waiting. “If you don't mind, I have some questions for you.”

  “For me?” my roommate and I asked at the same time.

  Mason shook his head. “For you,” he clarified, pointing at Beau. “Is there somewhere we can go that's more private?”

  Beau scratched his almost-bald head. “Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of her. I don't require privacy in my own home.”

  “Then, shall we?” Mason gestured to my parlor. His formality stung, but he was on the job. Unable to help myself, I zipped to the kitchen and fixed three glasses of iced tea. Handing them around, I sat down next to Beau on the stiff couch.

  Mason took out his pad and pencil. “It's my understanding that you visit the retirement home quite often. Is that true?”

  “I don't think that's a secret, Detective,” Beau replied.

  “But you don't always sign in when you do visit,” Mason observed rather than questioned.

  My roommate cleared his throat. “No, not always.”

  “And when you do go there, who is it that you intend to see?” The detective held his pencil at the ready.

  “Do you need a complete list?” Beau asked.

  Mason nodded. “That would be helpful.”

  I attempted to hold back my surprise as my roommate revealed a long list of female names, half of whom I knew growing up. Beau paused to consider if the list was complete, and I smacked him on the arm.

  “You dated all those women?” How could someone so incompetent at so many things be such a ladies’ man?

  “Depends on what you mean by date,” he said.

  “Give me your own definition, please,” Mason insisted.

  Beau tapped his finger against one of his fangs. “Sometimes all they want is some company. Someone to talk to or to pay attention to them. Others want a dancing partner or someone to play cards with or checkers.”

  “And is that all you were doing with Miss Cordelia? Playing a game of checkers in her room?” I needled.

  “There are other activities that I engage in with the women when the connection is mutual. For example—”

  I waved my hands, cutting him off. “I don't think we need those types of details, do we, Mason?” The two men might get their privacy if I had to listen to Beau go into any deeper descriptions.

  “Maybe,” Mason said. “But first, I see that you left off Eugenia Kettlefields. Was she not one of your…friends?”

  Realization dawned on my roommate's face. “Oh, no. Not her. She wasn't the social type. I saw her around the place, but I wouldn't say that she had many friends there. In my estimation, she was a very lonely person.”

  “And you never entered her bedroom?” Mason pressed.

  “No, never,” answered Beau.

  The detective’s interrogation piqued my interest. “Why are you asking him these questions? Did you find something that puts Beau on your list of suspects?”

  “Let me run things right now, Charli,” Mason insisted. He produced a book from his suit pocket and placed it on the coffee table in front of us.

  “That's one of our old textbooks,” I observed. “Why do you have a copy of the History of Magic?”

  “We've been collecting Mrs. Kettlefields’ possessions, and cataloging them after your raid of her room. This was among them,” he replied.

  “I bet it's one of her teaching things she must have kept. I don't see why it would be that special.” I fingered the tattered cover, remembering my time in school when my biggest worry had been memorizing the most powerful witches of the fourteenth century. As an adult, I now understood that not all of the information in the book had been completely true. As an educational tool, it was pretty useless.

  “Look inside,” ordered Mason.

  I flipped open the cover, expecting to see a school stamp on one side with the scrawled names of the different children who were assigned the book through the years across from the familiar title page. Instead, I found pages and pages of scribbling.

  Picking the book up, I held it closer. “Is this her diary?”

  “It is,” admitted Mason. “You can read it,” he said, granting me permission to the question I hadn’t asked yet.

  My eyes scanned my teacher’s neat handwriting. For the most part, she wrote about how mundane her life was after being forced to quit teaching. In the beginning, she expressed her anger at her retirement, but further on, the entries confirmed what Beau had said. Without the daily contact with her pupils, Mrs. K was very forlorn.

  A wave of sad sympathy washed over me. “It doesn't reveal much other than an old woman who longed for her earlier life and didn't know what to do with the rest of the time she had left.”

  Mason stood up and took the book out of my hand. He turned the pages until he got to where he wanted and handed it back to me, pointing where I should start.

  The tone of her words changed rapidly. Instead of bitter complaints, her words expressed joy and elation.

  “It has been so long since I have felt this alive. Not since the first time and seeing my words come to life on the stage by my dear students. It's as if my life has been lived in darkness and somebody has switched on the lights.”

  I turned the page. The next few entries were the same, expressing her newfound happiness. I started to skip and scan her words until I noticed an even more significant change. Hasty scribbles replaced the careful script.

  A shaky hand wrote the words. “The thing I feared most is coming true. My mind is slipping, much like my dear departed mother's. I am finding I have patches of time gone. Memories that aren't there. Holes in my narrative. Perhaps I should tell someone, but I don't want to be taken away. Mother was taken, and she was never the same.”

  I turned the page. “I have misplaced the brooch I hold so dear. Its value may not be high to others, but my retirement gift holds a priceless value for me. Much like some of my memories, I cannot seem to find it.”

  The next entry disturbed me more. “There are thoughts in my head that I do not know if they are mine or someone else's. I am unsettled most of the time. I find the most comfort in my normal routine of life, and still crave those stolen moments where I am shown how I can be truly free.”

  “I don't know if I want to finish this,” I admitted. It was one thing to suspect that someone's sanity was spiraling into an abyss but a whole other thing to witness it in her writing.

  “Skip to the last entry,” Mason said.

  I turned to the final page with cursive on it. “He tells me that I will know when the time has come to speak my mind. A part of me questions his reasons, but then another part of me desires to make him happy. I am being torn in two, and am not sure what will become of me.”

  “Him,” I emphasized. “That's why you’re questioning Beau.”

  “I swear to you, I never spent time with Mrs. Kettlefields.” My roommate shifted in discomfort next to me. “If you need confirmation of that, then I suggest gathering the testimonies of those women. But I would prefer if you did it one at a time and not all at once, if you don't mind.”

  Mason made some notes. “I may have to do that, and I make no guarantees. For now, I suggest you cease-and-desist any nighttime visits there. I've already starte
d asking some questions, and you may find your welcome mat taken away for the moment.”

  “I understand,” Beau grumbled. He stood up and stomped his way back upstairs.

  Left alone with Mason, too many questions bubbled to the surface. “I think you can rule out suicide.”

  “That was unlikely anyway, considering that her official death was lack of oxygen from being choked. Still, it does show that her mind was not quite right,” he replied.

  My pulse quickened. “Which might explain her outburst during the first election event—”

  “—but not why she was killed,” finished Mason.

  Our ideas flowed so well together. Almost like before, when we put together the pieces of Tipper’s demise, and I grabbed hold of the moment, not wanting to let go.

  “About that brooch,” Mason said. “If you have the time, would you be willing to come with me and help search for it?”

  The adrenaline of excitement rushed through me. “Of course,” I declared without thinking. When my brain caught up, I winced. “Except…” With my magic not working quite right, was it worth making the attempt only to fail?

  I picked up the glasses to take to the kitchen. “By the way, did Ms. Alma ever file a report about her missing ring?”

  Confusion settled on his brow. “I don't know. I'll have to check on that when I go back to the station. Or you could come back with me, and we can check together before you help me find the missing piece of jewelry.”

  The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the hour, and I panicked. “Uh, I can't right now.” I stood up in haste and ushered Mason toward the door. “Maybe later.”

  Why hadn't I been paying attention to the time? Of course, it wouldn't matter much if it weren't Mason still standing in my house on any normal day, which today definitely was not.

  The detective chuckled at my insistence. “I’m entirely capable of leaving on my own, Charli.” He didn't seem to appreciate my hands on his back, pushing. “What's the rush? Is Beau right? Do you have a date?”

  I grunted in exasperation. “No, it’s not a date.”

  “Yes, it is.” Dash’s deep voice countered my protest. He peered over Mason’s shoulder at me. “And you're running late.”