1 Moonshine & Magic Page 7

“I watched Eveline Winthorpe shove you out of her house and followed you.” He didn’t flinch once while revealing that little nugget.

  Pixie poop. He’d been watching me? “How’d you know I was there?”

  “I knew somebody was in her house. A half-drunk glass of what I guessed was sweet tea dripped condensation onto the table where someone had left it before I arrived. I didn’t know who that someone was until I saw you. Care to tell me what you were doing there? Or what you overheard?”

  “We were discussing Tipper. Sharing our condolences with each other.”

  “You two are great friends, are you?” His eyes glanced my direction.

  I shivered, half under his scrutiny and half from the pain racking my arm. He reached out and wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead. “You don’t look good.”

  “Just what a girl wants to hear from a guy,” I managed, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window and away from his touch.

  He drove his car to the far end of town and down the length of the dirt driveway to Nana’s house, guided by the lights burning on the front porch. The car pulled in at an angle to get me as close to the house as possible. With more energy than I possessed, he shot out and rushed around the front of the car until he opened my door. With a gentleness he hadn’t shown me in our first encounter, he helped me out.

  The screen door slammed, and Nana met us on the porch. “I felt something was up. I hate it when my old bones are right. Help her inside, please, Detective.”

  Without warning, he scooped me up in his arms like a baby. My ability to rebel weakened to a brief shake of my head. “Don’t think because you’re acting like a big hero that I like you.”

  The effort to carry me didn’t even make him huff with exertion. “So noted.” His eyes flashed to mine for a brief moment.

  “Set her down on the couch, please,” directed Nana. She carried a glass of something dark brown with an unpleasant stench.

  As if I weighed nothing, Mason set me down without jostling me. “Don’t think because you’re a damsel in distress that I’m your Prince Charming, either.” He winked, his face relaxing into something resembling a normal person rather than a soulless machine.

  Nana sat on the coffee table in front of me, her fingers pulling open my eyes and examining me. She thrust the smelly liquid in my face. “Here. Drink this down.”

  My stomach turned. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Don’t make me make the detective put you in handcuffs and force it down your throat. And don’t argue with me Charlotte Vivian Goodwin.”

  I tried to point my finger at her. “Don’t middle name me.” In front of him, I held back.

  “If you don’t drink this, I can come up with a concoction that’s five times worse.” Her eyes pleaded with me.

  “Drink it, Charli,” added Mason, the concern in his eyes genuine.

  “Fine,” I resigned. Holding my nose, I downed a few gulps before spluttering.

  “All of it,” insisted Nana. She whipped a kitchen towel out of nowhere and wiped off my lips and chin.

  Left with nothing else to do but obey, I swallowed the rest as fast as possible, praying that I wouldn’t spew it out and embarrass myself.

  A warm buzz like a bee inside my veins tickled its way down my arm. The pain dulled to a bearable ache. My eyelids grew heavy, and Nana and Mason fluttered in and out of sight. Their voices floated on a sea of dreams as I sunk into oblivion.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Mason stated.

  “That crazy old goat. If I could, I’d bring him back alive just to hex his behind dead again.” Nana sounded angry and worried. That meant I should be, too. But no amount of effort could throw off the blanket of sleep that claimed me.

  As I drifted into unconsciousness, I tried my best to cling to the final thread of Nana’s voice. “If we don’t do something, there might be two deaths in Honeysuckle Hollow.”

  Another morning of waking up in confusion and another attempt at gaining my bearings again. My memory remained intact, and to my relief, the pain in my arm didn’t overwhelm me. When I made it downstairs to the table, I stopped in the doorway.

  Mason sat bold as brass, drinking a cup of steaming coffee and looking like he’d been waiting for me. The watchful eyes of Doc Mason observed my every move.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Nana walked in with a cup for me and a refill for the two men. “Don’t you remember? Detective Clairmont brought you home to me last night.”

  I recalled the actions of an actual man emerging from underneath his shield of professionalism that gave me pause. “But what is he doing here now?”

  “We need to talk,” he insisted.

  Nana flashed him a look. “Not until Doc has checked her out.”

  “Yeah, can’t it at least wait until I have food in me and can come down to the station?” No way would I sit down to the plate of eggs scrambled the way I liked them with bits of ham and onion mixed in and toast with strawberry jelly on it. Not while Mason sat there.

  I narrowed my eyes at my grandmother when she set a plate of eggs over easy with bacon and toast in front of Doc. And another in front of Mason. Traitor. “Since when did he become welcome in your home?”

  Nana pointed. “Sit down, Charli. There are things that need explainin’.” Her glare squashed any more questions, and like a sulky kid, I trudged over and plopped into the seat.

  “Go ahead. I’m all ears.” Without looking at any of them, I started in on the eggs.

  Nana started. “The night you came home, what happened when you found Tipper?”

  So, there’d be no preamble or build up. Right to the heart of things. “I followed Biddy, and she led me to the far side of the park. Tipper sat on a bench, and I thought maybe he was just drunk and passed out.”

  Mason leaned forward. “You touched him to check, right?”

  “Yes. So what?” The piece of toast I’d picked up hung in the air. Nana and Mason shared a look, and my patience gave out. “Would you guys stop dodging me and get to the point.”

  “Fine,” my grandmother relinquished. “You touched Tipper with your right hand, and you felt something zap your arm.”

  “Like cold lightning,” added Mason.

  It was my turn for my eyes to bounce back and forth between the two of them. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve seen it before.” Mason frowned.

  Doc stopped chewing his bite to glance at Nana. “It’s been ages since something like this. Are you sure?” When she nodded at him, he went back to watching my every move with tight scrutiny.

  My brain did its best to keep up. “Eveline told me I needed to forgive Uncle Tipper for something. Nana, what did he do?”

  Crossing her arms, Nana glared at the table. “That old fool spellcast something on himself. Alone. I’m sure he meant it to hurt whomever he thought was after him.”

  Dropping the toast, I waved my hands in front of me. “Whoa. I did not kill Tipper. Doc, tell ‘em. Tell them that Tipper died of natural causes.” My arm ached the truth, but I wanted the lie.

  “I can’t. Tipper’s death makes no sense.” The town doctor and healer leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. “The man drank like a fish, but otherwise, he was in perfect shape, at least for a man of his age. I’d just examined him, too. No issues and healthy as a horse. Heck, we should all be lucky to live as long and as hard as he has. Had. And then for him to up and die of a heart attack. Something doesn’t add up.”

  When I’d talked with my uncle, there’d been no signs that he didn’t feel well. In fact, other than his paranoia, he’d remained his crazy, off-beat self. The man that I’d loved and respected as much as my mom did.

  Taking a sip from my cup, I grimaced at the foul taste. Instead of coffee, Nana had mixed up some version of the same concoction from the night before. I knew better than to refuse it, but that didn’t stop me from shooting some serious side eye in her direction. “So then why are we tr
eating it like he was murdered?”

  Mason scooted his chair closer to me. “That’s where you come in. I want to hear everything that happened between you two. What did you see? What did you hear? It might help us figure out who the killer is.”

  As all of the attention of the room pointed at me like sharp daggers, comprehension dawned on me. “Surely, you don’t believe that I killed him?” When my eyes lit on Mason, fear gripped my insides.

  “I’ll admit,” he started. “When I saw you clutch your arm yesterday, I guessed what might be the cause. And yes, your innocence was in question. As it should have been. But after discussing things with your grandmother last night, now I’m not so sure.”

  Nana nodded. “You see, a spell like this can be tricky. It’s meant to punish the one who commits the murder, but sometimes it can have unintended effects if not executed with perfection, which is why it’s outlawed and forbidden.” She sounded more like the head of the town council than my grandmother.

  My mind connected the dots, and realization dawned on me with devastating surety. “Uncle Tipper wasn’t all there anymore, was he? So in his paranoid state, and with a fractured mind, he didn’t spellcast correctly.”

  “That’s what we conclude.” Mason ventured a look my way. “If the death curse were performed right and you were the murderer, your time would be coming to a painful end.”

  “But I’m not the murderer. Surely that should break the…did you call it a death curse?” The goosebumps on my arms gave birth to more chills.

  “You found the body. And best I can tell, the only way to break the wretched thing is to find the one responsible.” Nana’s lower lip quivered. “And, yes. It is called a death curse.”

  A new possibility sunk in. “Wait. What happens if we don’t find the killer? Can’t Doc here cure it or something?”

  Everyone avoided my gaze. Nana pounded her hands on the table and stood up, her chair crashing to the floor. “That old fool.” She clutched her hand to her heart, giving into despair. Her lack of holding it together frightened me down to my bones.

  “Listen, it does us no good to think about that outcome. Your grandmother and Doc here will do what they can to slow the effects,” instructed Mason.

  “I do not want to have to drink that unnatural-looking, gray slime all the time and sleep my way to my end. I refuse to be Sleeping Beauty, waiting for the hero to wake me up.” My cheeks reddened at the reminder of last night’s brief exchange with the detective. Definitely no need to think about exactly how the princess got woken up.

  “Your grandmother is the strongest in magic here in Honeysuckle, although I’m sure she would protest that sentiment. Combining our knowledge, we’ve already adjusted your medicine.” Doc nodded at the cup in front of me.

  “It still tastes awful.” And looked like sludge from the bottom of a lake.

  Nana cocked her head and raised her eyebrow in that because-I-said-so way. “Well, what did you expect, cotton candy? It’s medicine. Stop your whining and get to finishin’ it.”

  All three watched me as I raised the drink to my lips. Holding my nose, I downed a couple of gulps but couldn’t keep back the shivers of disgust. “There. So, how can I help solve the murder, Detective?”

  “You are going to tell me every little detail from your encounter with Tipper. And then you will leave the rest of it to us wardens.” He stood up.

  I joined him. “No deal. If this curse is on me, then I’m going to do all I can to get it off me. That means you’ve earned yourself a new partner.”

  “I work alone, Miss Charlotte.”

  Oh, so I was no longer Charli? “Not anymore. You need me.”

  Doc crossed his arms. “I agree with the detective. I don’t think it’s a good idea that you be stressing yourself out, Miss Charli. It would be better if you rested.”

  “If this curse thing is as bad as all that, then I refuse to go out with a whimper. I won’t die curled up in a ball, waiting for death.” My lower lip trembled.

  Nana righted her chair. “As much as I’d like for my granddaughter to remain safe at home with me, I’ve learned not to argue too much with her when she gets like this. We Goodwin women tend to get our way. And she’s right. It is her curse. She should be allowed to do what she can to break it.”

  Mason shook his head. “She may be putting herself in harm’s way.”

  I threw up my arms. “According to all of you, I’m already harmed. Besides, you need me.”

  He walked over and stared me down. “And what do you bring to the table?”

  I gulped. What did I bring? No college education. No job. Not a whole lot of power behind my magic. My shoulders slumped.

  Nana jumped to my defense. “My Charli has amazing locating gifts. If there’s something you need finding, she’s the one for the job.”

  Doc’s face relaxed for the first time. “That’s right. Our girl here is the best there is at finding things. Remember that one time when we couldn’t find a key to our filing cabinet? Me and Queenie turned the office inside out and upside down until Vivian sent us Charli. Took her no time at all to help us find the small thing.”

  Nana beamed with pride. “And she was all of seven-years-old at that point.”

  Mason furrowed his brow. “Locating? You mean, tracking? You’re a tracker.” For the first time, admiration shone in his eyes. The way he said tracker made my pride sit up and take notice.

  Heat rose in my cheeks again. “I don’t know what you’d call it. I’ve spent the last year trying to find others with similar abilities to learn from since there’s no one around these parts who can train me.”

  He looked at Nana. “I thought powers like that were inherited.”

  “I’m adopted, Detective Clairmont,” I admitted in a quieter voice.

  “Charli’s the daughter of our hearts,” explained my grandmother. “Blood doesn’t make a family. Love does.”

  Unable to stand the awkward silence that followed whenever we told someone I was adopted, I strode around Mason and snatched a piece of bacon from his plate. “Like I said. You need me. And I need to be a part of the investigation. So let’s go through that night, and then I’m going to give you the biggest gift of them all.”

  He snapped off the end of my stolen bacon and shoved it in his mouth. “And what’s that?”

  Sitting back down at the table, I picked up my cup of not-coffee. “I’m gonna teach you how to be a local.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You need some serious work on your people skills,” I accused, waving at Leland Chalmers, Sr., the father of my childhood friend Lee, dropping off something in the mailbox.

  Mason frowned as he walked next to me down Main Street. “I’m not here to be everybody’s friend. It would cloud my objectivity.”

  Stopping at a large store window, I glanced inside Life’s A Stitch. A few women sat around, knitting and talking in one corner. The store worker had her back turned to us, helping someone pick out needlepoint or cross stitch floss. But the quilt on display hanging on the back wall squeezed my heart, knowing who’d made the pattern and stitched it. After ringing up the customer, the woman who worked there glanced up at Mason and me watching from the sidewalk. She gestured for us to come in.

  My feet stayed rooted where I stood. A part of me longed to go into the store that had so much of my own life sewn up into it. But a bigger piece of my heart wasn’t ready.

  “I’ll wait for you here if you want to go in,” Mason offered.

  I shook my head at both him and Ms. Patty Lou, the current owner. She waved back at me with a sad smile and joined the knitting group.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m not ready yet.”

  “What does a person have to do to get ready for a store like that?” Mason joked.

  My eyes darted to the ground, and I willed the pool of tears forming in my eyes not to spill. “It was my mom’s store. Well, hers and Patty Lou’s together. I practically grew up in there.”

  Mason emitted
a small sound of sympathy but coughed to cover it up. “So, you can sew?” He took a few steps away from the store, allowing me to follow in my own time.

  “Nope. I’m horrible at it.”

  “Knit?”

  “I tried once. What came out of my efforts might have been a scarf. If it had ended up about three times as wide as I made it.” I smiled despite the sadness still sitting in my chest. “And I don’t quilt or do needlework patterns. But I loved watching my mom do stuff. She was amazing.”

  No chance of catching the tear that escaped. I wiped my cheek and sniffed. “What about your mom? Did she do any handiwork like that?”

  His confident gait faltered. “No. Not that I know of.” His face darkened.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get too personal with you.” Stupid me, ruining my plans with him before I got started.

  “You didn’t say anything to apologize for. I just don’t tell people.” He picked at a scab on his arm and blew out his breath. “I don’t know if my mother sewed or anything. I didn’t grow up with her.”

  “Oh.” The air around us thickened with nerves.

  “I didn’t grow up with a father, either. So when my powers showed up in a regular foster home, you can imagine what it did to my childhood.”

  My fingers itched to hug him and reassure the hurting child inside him. I figured the biggest surprise of the day would be that I had a Death Curse working through me. Who knew that Mason Clairmont sharing a piece of himself would be the bigger bomb.

  “How’d you manage?” I asked. “Gah, sorry. Don’t mind my nosy self. I’ll just take it with me inside.”

  He reached out and took my hand. “No. It’s fine. A social worker who was also a witch showed up. I guess there are those out there that look for specific problems like I was. She got me placed in a home with other witches, and I got the care that I needed.”

  But what about love? I wondered to myself. Giving him the space to continue or end, I remained quiet. When a couple of people passed us with polite recognition but curious eyes watching our hands, he released me and cleared his throat. We moseyed forward again, but the moment of sharing passed.