A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery by Heather Blake Page B
Authors: Heather Blake
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Ha! It was turning out to be anything but.
The skies had opened on my way home, and I’d come in the back door to a dark kitchen. The power in my house had gone off, yet everyone else’s on the street was just fine.
Roly and Poly were nowhere to be found, and I suspected the big chickens were hiding out under my bed—their usual spot when it was storming.
I’d left my damp shoes on the back door landing and now stood in the kitchen in my sopping socks, watching the ceiling drip.
Letting loose a string of curse words that would make my daddy blush, I grabbed a Crock-Pot from the cabinet and set it under the leak.
Rain pounded the roof, and I found two more leaks in the living room. I set a saucepan under one and an empty kitty-litter container under the other before heading upstairs to my room to change.
As I was running home in the rain, I’d tried to come up with a good plan to get Bernice Morris to spill what she knew of Nelson’s private life to me.
I needed a lie. A whopper that would convince her to give me some information—despite the fact that she probably hated my guts.
The storm had darkened my bedroom, and it took me a second to remember why the light switch didn’t work when I flipped it on.
No electricity.
I moved about in the murky light, first to check to see if the cats were under the bed (they were) and then to my closet to change out of my wet clothes. I slipped into a pair of drawstring shorts and a T-shirt before thumping down the hall to the bathroom (dang light switch!) to dry my hair with a towel. I set a wastebasket under the drip near the tub.
I glanced in the mirror at my freckled face and groaned at the sight of my hair. Without a hair dryer it was going to frizz like a used Brillo pad.
As I stared at my reflection, I wondered what on earth I’d done to bring today’s mess upon myself.
Nelson dead in my shop.
Johnny Braxton threatening me.
Rumors that my potions were poisoned.
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced my weight on the pedestal sink. In a town this size, a rumor like that could put me out of business fast. Despite the truth of the matter, people would believe what they heard. Even tourists would hear snippets and stay away.
It didn’t matter that mine was one of the more successful shops in town.
Or that my potions worked wonders on people.
Only that people heard that one man had died and another had wrecked his car after drinking my potions.
Why?
The word kept echoing in my head, bouncing off reasons why Nelson had been found in
my
shop.
Why? Why? Why?
There were no answers.
I might not know why now, but I’d find out. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
With a new determination, I headed downstairs to gather up more buckets for the inevitable leaks, and candles in preparation for nightfall. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked.
I checked the breaker in the kitchen, but it didn’t show that I’d blown any fuses. I opened my front door to check on the neighbors’ houses and almost fell into my pile of porch debris.
I’d almost forgotten about the porch. My anger simmered as I stomped toward the kitchen, to the phone book in a drawer. I’d call and see if the cleanup company could come tomorrow instead of Monday to haul the debris away. I found the number of the county company, but as soon as I picked up the phone, I found it dead.
Lots of that going around today.
I slammed down the receiver, walked over to the pantry, and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. After grabbing a spoon from the drawer, I twisted off the peanut butter cap and dug in.
Within minutes, Poly was downstairs, twining around my legs, meowing for his fair share. He could smell peanut butter from a mile away, I swear.
I grabbed another teaspoon from the drawer, dipped the tip into the jar, the smallest of dabs, and set it on the floor.
Poly looked at the spoon, then back up at me.
“It’s enough,” I said.
He flicked his long gray tail in displeasure.
“Take it or
The skies had opened on my way home, and I’d come in the back door to a dark kitchen. The power in my house had gone off, yet everyone else’s on the street was just fine.
Roly and Poly were nowhere to be found, and I suspected the big chickens were hiding out under my bed—their usual spot when it was storming.
I’d left my damp shoes on the back door landing and now stood in the kitchen in my sopping socks, watching the ceiling drip.
Letting loose a string of curse words that would make my daddy blush, I grabbed a Crock-Pot from the cabinet and set it under the leak.
Rain pounded the roof, and I found two more leaks in the living room. I set a saucepan under one and an empty kitty-litter container under the other before heading upstairs to my room to change.
As I was running home in the rain, I’d tried to come up with a good plan to get Bernice Morris to spill what she knew of Nelson’s private life to me.
I needed a lie. A whopper that would convince her to give me some information—despite the fact that she probably hated my guts.
The storm had darkened my bedroom, and it took me a second to remember why the light switch didn’t work when I flipped it on.
No electricity.
I moved about in the murky light, first to check to see if the cats were under the bed (they were) and then to my closet to change out of my wet clothes. I slipped into a pair of drawstring shorts and a T-shirt before thumping down the hall to the bathroom (dang light switch!) to dry my hair with a towel. I set a wastebasket under the drip near the tub.
I glanced in the mirror at my freckled face and groaned at the sight of my hair. Without a hair dryer it was going to frizz like a used Brillo pad.
As I stared at my reflection, I wondered what on earth I’d done to bring today’s mess upon myself.
Nelson dead in my shop.
Johnny Braxton threatening me.
Rumors that my potions were poisoned.
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced my weight on the pedestal sink. In a town this size, a rumor like that could put me out of business fast. Despite the truth of the matter, people would believe what they heard. Even tourists would hear snippets and stay away.
It didn’t matter that mine was one of the more successful shops in town.
Or that my potions worked wonders on people.
Only that people heard that one man had died and another had wrecked his car after drinking my potions.
Why?
The word kept echoing in my head, bouncing off reasons why Nelson had been found in
my
shop.
Why? Why? Why?
There were no answers.
I might not know why now, but I’d find out. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
With a new determination, I headed downstairs to gather up more buckets for the inevitable leaks, and candles in preparation for nightfall. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked.
I checked the breaker in the kitchen, but it didn’t show that I’d blown any fuses. I opened my front door to check on the neighbors’ houses and almost fell into my pile of porch debris.
I’d almost forgotten about the porch. My anger simmered as I stomped toward the kitchen, to the phone book in a drawer. I’d call and see if the cleanup company could come tomorrow instead of Monday to haul the debris away. I found the number of the county company, but as soon as I picked up the phone, I found it dead.
Lots of that going around today.
I slammed down the receiver, walked over to the pantry, and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. After grabbing a spoon from the drawer, I twisted off the peanut butter cap and dug in.
Within minutes, Poly was downstairs, twining around my legs, meowing for his fair share. He could smell peanut butter from a mile away, I swear.
I grabbed another teaspoon from the drawer, dipped the tip into the jar, the smallest of dabs, and set it on the floor.
Poly looked at the spoon, then back up at me.
“It’s enough,” I said.
He flicked his long gray tail in displeasure.
“Take it or
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