Murder & Spice Read online

  “Among other things,” the man 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 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 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.”

  The woman on staged shuffle papers in front of her. At a guess, Cassy would put her 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 he was a subordinate.

  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 know that 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. 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. 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, his gaze 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 her again said something, receiving some applause. Judging from redness in the woman’s cheeks, Cassy guessed 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 you can do to stop us. Ask your mayor. Do you think Newmark could move in without local support? 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 police officers 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 the only way to see all of the shouting people.

  On stage, the mayor answered questions while trying 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 over the table. 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 its myriad of 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. 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 to 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 started 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 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 in 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 it was intentional, they were headed straight for the Spicery gang. Before they collided, Cassy ducked out of the way, focused rage shown on the woman’s face as she marched by, oblivious or uncaring that she had almost knocked over Cassy.

  “Some people,” Dot muttered, giving her best disapproving look. “She’s the woman from across the street; Café and Whatnot.”

  Cassy would have corrected Dot if she’d been listening, but her attention was elsewhere. Cassy spotted the rear-wheel drive car she’d seen earlier in the parking lot, next to the town hall. It belonged to the Newmark lawyers, and after their performance, she would have assumed they’d be 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 to where several cars were parked in a small area marked by a low chain fence. Her attention was drawn to a car parked 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. Shielding her eyes from the overhead street lights, Cassy crept 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?”

  Noyce and one other deputy, one who was not the intriguing Mr. Jones, stood above her.

  “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 was 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.

  “Don’t overdo it, Noyce,” she said, something nagging at her. “You don’t suspect foul play, do you?”

  The faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth betrayed everything 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.”

  “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 officer.

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

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

  “I’m all right. I got everything I need.” Cassy downed what was left of the drink, grimaced, then handed the cup to the deputy. “I’d better be going. The girls will be worried.”

  “We’ll speak to you tomorrow, Miss Dean.”

  * * *

  As she left the station, Cassy couldn’t help but think something else was going on with Sheriff Noyce. This wasn’t the first unexpected death he’d had to contend with. Only two years ago, there had been a string of killings that he’d all but solved single-handedly. But he seemed unduly agitated this time round. He’d been dismissive when Cassy had suggested that it might have been murder, which only exposed that it was a possibility.

  Before she’d even stepped into the night air, Cassy decided she would return to Coffee and More the following day. She just couldn’t get away from that woman’s angry face. Curiosity had gotten the better of Cassy in the past, and on more than one occasion, she’d regretted poking her nose in where it shouldn’t be. But the sheriff’s office would be overworked with potentially two-hundred witnesses to a possible murder.

  Asking a few questions wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Cassy turned to the sound of the voice as Patty emerged from the dark. She had a woolen hat pulled down, which only made her big eyes seem even larger. She was a skinny thing and shivered against the cool air.

  “Do you think you could do a few extra hours tomorrow?” Cassy asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “I might have spare time. Let me have a look at my schedule.” Patty took out her phone, briefly glanced at the screen without turning it on, then rep
laced it in her bag. “Looks like I’m free for the rest of my life, so sure, why not? You have plans?”

  “Something’s bothering me, and I need to make sure it’s nothing.”

  “Oh, got ya. Well, we’d better head back. I promised Dot that I’d get you home safely; she had to go to bed.”

  “Safely? Are you my chaperone now?” Cassy laughed. It was simultaneously sweet and a little condescending. She hooked her arm through the younger girl’s, and they made their way through the town center.

  The idea that Patty and Dot thought that she needed to be walked home at night occupied Cassy’s mind until she went to bed, and anything about the (possibly) suspicious death of Jane Fontaine was put on the back burner.

  It was no coincidence.

  The representative of a large firm buying up property comes to town, then winds up dead shortly after stating as a matter of fact that the corporation will not stop, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Many people had a lot riding on the development, and just as many would suffer if it continued.

  Tea first, then wild theories.

  * * *

  Cassy’s apartment was filled with all the beautiful aromas that seeped up from the Spicery. It was small, only a single bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a living area just big enough for her to stretch her feet out when she had a rare moment to relax on the couch with Herzog on her lap. She loved her little retreat, though, and would have felt lost in anything bigger. Dot used to kid her that if she were to lie down and stretch her arms above her head, she could reach both walls simultaneously. This wasn’t true, but it wasn’t far from wrong, either. Besides, with the shop downstairs, she spent most of her time with the public and didn’t have all that much space to herself.

  She took her tea—not the usual Darjeeling and orange, but a bitter yet perky natural mint—on the balcony overlooking the courtyard at the center of her block. Nether Edge comprised four separate buildings joined together sometime early in the last century and now formed a perfect little yard with a small garden. In the summer, it was often a great place for residents to meet up for barbecues and little gatherings. For her fortieth birthday, Cassy had arranged a little get-together of a few friends and neighbors, but it had somehow turned into a night-long party, spilling into the street. The following day everybody had returned to help tidy up. That sense of community ensured Cassy would never look for anywhere else to live. Just about everybody was on speaking terms, and Cassy got to know a few residents well over time. Her immediate neighbors to the right were Mrs. Donnington and her daughter Bella, who suffered from a rare disorder that confined her to the house. Occasionally Cassy would poke her head in to see if she could be of any help, but Mrs. Donnington was what Dot would call a ‘trooper’. Despite everything, the woman was always cheery and didn’t let her circumstances get her down. On the other side lived a young couple, childhood sweethearts, who a more cynical person might find off-putting for all their displays of public affection, but for Cassy, they embodied the vitality of youthful love. The girl, Maya, was a keen amateur witch and would often come to the Spicery for tips and tricks. It wasn’t yet time for Cassy to reveal the true nature of what it was to be a witch, however. Maya was still too young and had fanciful notions of what it entailed. Maybe one day.