Murder & Spice (Nether Edge Witch Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  Being someone with a little standing in the community—and indeed it was a little, she was merely a shop owner—Cassy was mercifully given a chair. She wasn’t sure if she would have survived had she been forced to stand. An older gentleman gave up his seat to Dot, and Patty happily sat on the floor next to Cassy. The gentleman, however, kept asking Cassy what was happening on stage, as he didn’t have the best view from where he was.

  The raised stage at the far end of the hall was often used for local productions—amateur renditions of Shakespeare plays, or one-woman shows written by the town’s prolific but underachieving resident dramatist. Occasionally larger acts would pass through, no doubt through some error in booking, but not even they could attract the numbers present on that night.

  Earlier, when they’d first arrived at the town hall, Cassy had spotted an unusual car parked in the lot reserved for officials. Unusual because no local person would own something with rear-wheel drive, so unsuited for the icy roads during winter. The vehicle no doubt belonged to the woman in the expensive black suit who now stepped onto the stage and took a chair behind the table placed there. It had enough seats for four other people. One of those was Havenholm’s mayor, Mr. Brustwick, a large man with a bald head that shone under the strip lights. To his right was the out-of-town woman, and she was joined by a man who Cassy guessed was an associate; they shared the same look of being there out of a sense of duty rather than any need or desire. Completing the panel was Donald Saint-John, a local developer with a run of failed projects, but who remained a vital force in Havenholm. That was until money from outside came in. A hush descended over the room as if a concert were about to begin, and Mayor Brustwick stood to address the audience.

  “Thank you all for coming. I’d like to thank various concerned citizens for arranging tonight’s Q&A—there will be a chance for you to ask the panel questions after the initial presentation. Now, I’d like to introduce the guests we have here tonight.” He mopped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “You all know me, so I’ll move right on. To my right, Mr. Saint-John owns Biggs Bowling Alley—”

  “Among other things,” Donald Saint-John interjected.

  “Well, indeed. To my left, we’re pleased to welcome Mrs. Jane Fontaine and Mr. Wallows—”

  “Willows,” corrected the man Cassy guessed must have been a lawyer.

  “Winnows?”

  “Mathew Willows.”

  The Mayor continued, regardless. “As you all know, things are changing in town. You might be aware that the Langdon building is finally coming down after having languished for so long.” This was met with a ripple of boos from the audience, but this did not slow the mayor’s pace. “Several other properties have been singled out for redevelopment, and as I hear it, in my capacity as mayor of this fine town of ours, there have been several objections to this.” The response from the crowd was more than a ripple this time. Brustwick raised his hand to steady the crowd.

  “Now I understand that there might be opposition to these plans, and this is why I invited representatives of Newmark, the company behind the redevelopment, so that they can have their say.”

  Cassy watched the woman in the black suit shuffle some papers in front of her. At a guess, Cassy would put the woman at about fifty-five, although a lot of money had made that look like forty-eight. She looked anxious, aware that she was in a hostile environment. Her companion didn’t look so intense, which made Cassy assume that he was subordinate to the woman.

  Brustwick rumbled on like a distant storm. “But first I would like to hear from Donald.”

  Donald rose to a smattering of applause.

  “I don’t have much to say, which for those of you who know me is quite out of character.” He paused for a laugh. “But let me tell you this: progress is inevitable. Progress is what I’ve built my reputation and business on. We would be fools to shy away from it. A town stuck in the past is doomed. I’ve always said this. But—” Here came the second pause. He had a flair for the dramatic, that was certain. “Progress without conscience is reckless, and this is what Newmark is bringing to Havenholm. It has always been my priority to enhance our town without ever taking away from it. I build homes. I build shops, entertainment venues, but all within the character of Havenholm. Now, I don’t know what Newmark’s endgame is, but do you really believe they have the heart of this town beating inside them? I’m Havenholm-born and raised, and there’s nothing I would do to endanger what we have here. I cannot believe that some fancy, opportunistic conglomerate”—Donald nearly spat out the word—“has anything but their own bottom line as a priority.”

  “So much for brevity,” whispered the man from his place at Cassy’s feet. “What’s happening now?”

  “The woman from Newmark looks riled. She’s getting up. Seems to be obsessed with the papers in front of her, but it’s just nerves.”

  When she spoke, however, Jane Fontaine was calm, collected and at ease with speaking to large groups of people. Her tone was firm but kind, as if talking to children. She didn’t seem at all fazed by the smattering of hushed insults from the crowd. Cassy felt sorry for the woman, but then again, she represented the people trying to take Havenholm apart.

  “Thank you, Mr. Saint-John, for that unbiased insight into our business,” she said, expecting a laugh but receiving none. “Foremost, I’d like to make Newmark’s stance clear on the subject of the recent acquisitions in Havenholm.” Cassy winced. Already it was sounding like some prepared corporate statement. “Our values are American values. Ones of exceptionalism and forging ahead into new and exciting territories. At Newmark, we want to build on what makes this nation great and give back what you, the people, deserve.”

  Any goodwill Cassy had for the woman had just about evaporated. She’d hoped for some element of genuine empathy for the people of Havenholm, but all she was hearing were tried and tested platitudes. It was as if she thought the locals would fall for the same old baloney that worked everywhere else. With her attention wandering, so did Cassy’s gaze. She scanned the room and picked out a few familiar faces, none of which looked like they were being suckered in by Madame Fontaine’s speech.

  As promised, the sheriff was there. He stood at the side of the room to get a full view, though Cassy noted that his gaze was firmly fixed on the stage. Deputy Jones was not with him, much to Cassy’s disappointment, but she reasoned that he must have been stationed elsewhere. Sure enough, she found him on the opposite side of the hall as if he were the mirror of the sheriff. She waved at him, then immediately felt stupid and hoped no one had seen her. Inevitably, Dot had.

  “There he is,” Dot called over the heads of the people between them. Cassy slipped down in her chair.

  “I know,” Cassy said, suitably chastised. She returned her attention to the stage. Ms. Fontaine was still speaking but now seemed to direct her bland corporate spiel to a man down at the very front who had stood up and jabbed an accusing finger at her.

  “You know what? I tried,” she sighed. “I knew it was going to be like this. Typical small-town mentality. It’s why I got out of here in the first place. Nothing here is precious, can’t you see? Newmark came here to create prosperity and wealth, because we saw an opportunity. But of course I should have realized I would have to first knock down the brick wall of your ignorance.”

  The man who had confronted the speaker from the front row said something back, which received applause nearby. Cassy could judge by the blooming redness in the woman’s cheeks that the man had overstepped the mark.

  “You poor idiots,” she growled, rage bubbling under a conspicuously calm voice. “This was a courtesy. In fact, there is nothing that you can do to stop us. Ask your mayor. Do you think Newmark could move in without local support? Believe me, there’s nothing you can do to stop what has already begun. I have half a mind to suggest that we buy the whole damn place and bring in the bulldozers.”

  With that she tossed her papers away and stormed offstage. The crowd erupted
into a frenzy. Whether because of the way Ms. Fontaine treated them or because of the revelation that Brustwick had sold them out, Cassy didn’t know; the result was the same, either way, and two officers of the law were not enough.

  “I think we’d better get out before it gets ugly,” came a small voice somewhere near Cassy.

  “For once, Pats, I think you’re right.” The problem was, things already turned sour. Cassy stood on her chair which was now the only way to see over the heads of the people of Havenholm, all of whom were now standing, shouting aimlessly.

  On stage, the mayor was doing his best to field questions whilst attempting to calm everyone down. This was made all the harder by Saint-John, who tugged repeatedly on the large man’s jacket, demanding answers to his own set of questions. The Newmark man, Willows, slipped out mostly unnoticed, which was lucky, as a few of the rowdier locals stormed the stage and knocked the table over. It was as grand a statement of anarchy as Havenholm had seen since the Civil War.

  Cassy felt her arm being vigorously yanked and turned to see Dot, who, still in her coat and now bright red in the indoor heat, resembled a hotdog in a bun more than ever.

  “This way, Cassy,” she said, with Patty in the grip of her other hand. “We’re getting out of here before it gets worse.”

  Chapter Five

  Tea above all things was essential to Cassy’s continued wellbeing. She enjoyed it in all its myriad variations, though she had a particular affinity for Darjeeling with an orange peel infusion. It reminded her specifically of her mother, as this was the type she drank. Whether Cassy liked the drink for the associations or for the flavor itself, even she couldn’t tell; the two had been so intertwined it became impossible to distinguish. What was taste but interpretation anyway?

  It was tea Cassy craved in the moment she, Patty and Dot squeezed their way through the crowd and back out into the refreshing night air. The town hall had become a boiler room, heated by incensed residents with nowhere to vent their frustrations other than at their poor, put-upon mayor (though he deserved it!)

  “I think tea is in order, don’t you?” Cassy suggested.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Dot confirmed.

  “I’ll never understand the obsession you two have with tea. It’s just leaves in water with a spoon or two of sugar,” Patty noted. “What’s wrong with a Coke?”

  Dot pulled her coat up around her neck and turned away from the younger woman. “And just what do you think Coke is, exactly?”

  Patty went to answer but stopped when she found there was nothing to say.

  “That was a little intense, wasn’t it?” Cassy mused. She looked back at the town hall. People were leaving already; the parade of disgruntled expressions led her to believe nothing had been resolved. There would be another similar meeting within the week, though Cassy suspected with a strict limit on attendance. There would be questions galore for the mayor now, and there was little he could do to worm his way out of it. The implication was he’d been selling construction rights to Newmark. If it was discovered he’d profited from this personally, then he wouldn’t last out the year. It was all speculation at this point, and Cassy had no intention of poking her nose into it. As long as the Nether Edge quarter was safe, then she’d file the whole thing somewhere at the back of her mind.

  At that moment, she saw a familiar and angry face. The woman from the Coffee and More Café stormed out of the hall with her husband in tow. Whether or not it was intentional, they were headed straight for the Spicery gang. Before they collided, Cassy ducked out of the way and saw the look of focused rage on the woman’s face as she marched on by, oblivious or uncaring that she had almost knocked Cassy over.

  “Some people,” Dot muttered, giving her best disapproving look. It was a look cultivated over years of disapproving of things. “She’s the woman from across the street. Café and Whatnot.”

  Cassy would have corrected Dot if she’d been listening, but her attention had been drawn elsewhere. Cassy spotted the rear-wheel drive car she’d seen earlier in the parking lot, next to the town hall. She’d been certain it belonged to the Newmark lawyers, and after the performance they’d put on just a few minutes ago, she would have assumed they’d be back out on the road already.

  More people were vacating the town hall. The streets were uncommonly busy for this hour, and Cassy had to push her way through to get a better look at what she thought she’d seen in the car.

  “Where are you going, Cass?” Patty called, keen to get going.

  “I thought I saw something… odd.”

  Cassy pressed on and made it to where several cars were parked in a small area marked by a low chain fence. Cassy’s attention was drawn to the car parked across the parking lot exit at a weird angle. She approached, an inner sense telling her something wasn’t right.

  When she got to the car, a door opened on the side of the town hall, causing her to jump. From the light inside, out stepped the male lawyer, Willows. When he saw Cassy by the car he paused, then came forward, his stride picking up pace.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “that’s my car. What do you think you are—” He stopped abruptly and his hand went to his mouth. Cassy followed his stricken gaze to the driver’s side of the vehicle. To shield her eyes from the overhead street lights, Cassy cupped her hands over her brow and went up close to the driver’s side window. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the car, the details of the scene within revealed themselves.

  The woman, Jane Fontaine, lay slumped against the steering wheel, her eyes wide open, expressionless, and glazed over.

  Chapter Six

  Tea was still the priority, but typical of police stations across the country, Havenholm’s had only coffee, so Cassy made do with the stale, bitter drink the receptionist handed her.

  It felt like she’d been in the station for hours, but a quick glance at the clock over the reception desk revealed that she’d arrived in the back of Noyce’s cruiser less than fifty minutes ago.

  Cassy swirled the drink around in the cup, then reluctantly took a sip.

  “Mrs. Dean?”

  She looked up to see Noyce and one other deputy, one who was not the intriguing Mr. Jones.

  “It’s Miss,” she said and stood.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but you can understand the pressure I’ve been under.”

  That was an understatement if ever there was one. Under Noyce’s watch the most high-profile person to visit Havenholm in several years (save for that time the Dixie Chicks were inexplicably booked at the town hall) had died. There was no way this wasn’t making national news.

  It hadn’t been his duty, nor that of the department itself, to look after the town’s guests specifically, but rather to ensure the safety of everyone at the event. Even so, it reflected badly on the sheriff.

  “If there’s anything I can do, Sheriff Noyce, I’ll be glad to help out.”

  “You’ve done enough, Cassy. You’ve given your statement, and I’m sure we’ll have further questions, but for now you just go on back home. Leave this to the professionals.”

  There was a look in the sheriff’s eyes Cassy couldn’t quite place. He looked alert, wired even, as if his mind were firing on all cylinders despite midnight rapidly approaching. He was pushing himself beyond his limits, and he wasn’t getting any younger. She made a mental note to bring him some tea the next day to cleanse his body. It would do him a lot of good.

  “Don’t overdo it, Noyce,” she said, and she would have left it at that, but something at the back of her mind wouldn’t let her leave it alone. “You don’t suspect foul play, do you?”

  The faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth betrayed more than anything he said.

  “Not right now, but we won’t know until the autopsy. My initial reaction is heart attack. High-stress job, she’d been traveling all day. Follow that with a confrontation in the hall, then…” His voice trailed away. “It’s a lot of paperwork, just another mess I didn’t need.”<
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  “You make sure you get enough rest,” Cassy replied. “You’ve got your new man; give him something to do. Where is he, by the way?”

  “Jones? Interviewing a few people like yourself who were nearby at the time.”

  An angry-looking face popped into Cassy’s head. She’d forgotten all about the near disastrous run-in until prompted. “There is someone you might want to talk to. The owner of Coffee and More.”

  “With those pesto melts?” the deputy said excitedly, then retreated under a withering stare from the sheriff.

  “That’s the one,” Cassy responded.

  “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. We’ve got enough on our plate right now. I’ve got Newmark on the phone every two minutes and Donald on the other line every other minute.” Sheriff Noyce grunted.

  “Don’t let it get to you. As I said, let the others take some of the load.” She winked to the deputy. “It’s what I do with my gang down at the Spicery. My job is to keep them busy.”

  The suggestion made sense to Noyce, and a small smile touched his lips. He carried that smile with him as he turned to the reticent deputy.

  “Looks like your workload got a little heavier, Wolinski,” the sheriff said, then turning to Cassy, “Can I get you another coffee?”

  The Deputy went limp, resigned to his fate. No early night for him.