Sit for a Spell (The Kitchen Witch, Book 3): (Witch Cozy Mystery series) (13 page)

Chapter 25

Thyme met me at the front door of Glinda’s. “I’m so glad you came. Ruprecht’s been stressing. He got upset after he spent time with his scrying mirror. He thinks it’s dangerous for you to be in your house at night. He’s called all of us here, and now he wants us all to stay overnight.”

“Bummer! Why didn’t you tell me before I came? I haven’t brought my pajamas or a change of clothes.”

“I’m so sorry, Amelia. Never mind, Camino has plenty of changes of clothes, and onesies.” She laughed.

I let out a long sigh. “Well, I suppose I could wear a onesie tonight,” I said.
Now that Alder won’t be seeing me
, I added silently. I thought back to that moment. We had been about to kiss, of that I was certain. Ruprecht’s timing left a lot to be desired.

“So you can stay?”

I nodded. “At least I’ve already fed the cats,” I said. And I had given them a special treat for tripping me up and into Alder.

Thyme ushered me into the back room behind Glinda’s and then through a large oak door. It opened to reveal a house. At that moment, I realized I had never been in Ruprecht’s residence before; I had only been in his shop, and the rooms behind the shop. Ruprecht’s residence looked similar to his store. I still felt as if I were in a scene from Harry Potter, more particularly in Dumbledore’s office. The scent of Nag Champa incense was pungent throughout.

Strangely, the living room encompassed an internal courtyard, in the center of which was a tinkling fountain that appeared to be of ancient Roman design. There was a large telescope next to a huge sundial in the courtyard, and the many tables in the living room were covered with puzzling instruments. Ruprecht came forward to greet me.

“Amelia, I’m so glad you could make it,” he said wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “My scrying mirror has given me cause for concern. I, for one, would feel much better if all of you would stay here every night. I feel the danger is only in the night time. I think you’ll be safe to return in daylight hours. This, of course, is just until the murderer is caught, and I feel that will happen very soon now.”

“Do you really think those eggs will work?” I asked him.

“With all certainty,” Ruprecht said. “That is an ancient African tradition carried into modern hoodoo. It will work.”

I made to respond, but my attention was pulled to a strange looking object on an old walnut table. “What on earth is that?” I asked him.

“An armillary sphere.”

I had no idea what an armillary sphere was, and I crossed to look at it. It was a fascinating metal object consisting of concentric circles with an arrow sticking through the middle. Ruprecht followed me to the table. “It’s actually a model of objects in the sky. This one is centered on the earth but some are centered on the sun. It represents lines of celestial longitude and latitude.”

I looked at a strange golden disc sitting in a wooden block. “Does that do the same sort of thing?”

Ruprecht nodded. “Yes, that’s an astrolabe. It’s actually an ancient astronomical computer.”

Just then, Mint, Thyme, and Camino emerged through a bright red door at the far end of the room.

“Hi, Camino,” I said. “You’re looking much better.”

“Yes, because the black hen’s eggs will work soon,” she said. “I’m not too happy that Ruprecht’s making me stay here, although I’m grateful to him for his hospitality. I just miss my house.”

Ruprecht crossed to her and patted her hand. “Never mind, Camino, you’ll be going back home soon enough.”

I looked past them to the TV. It was large and modern. At last! I would be able to watch something other than Jamie Oliver.

“Well, what’s the plan for tonight, then?” I asked. “If we’re all staying here, we might as well make something fun out of it.” The others nodded in agreement, but couldn’t seem to think of anything. “Well, how about a movie?” I suggested.

“Oh, yes, excellent idea, Amelia!” Ruprecht responded with delight. “I have a tape of Yasujiro Ozu’s
Late Spring
that I’ve been meaning to watch.”

A tape
, I thought. I tried not to laugh. It didn’t surprise me at all that Ruprecht would still watch movies on tapes, but it made it all the stranger that his TV was the latest technology. I guessed it was also possible that the movie wasn’t available digitally or on Blu-ray or something modern.

“I haven’t heard of it,” Thyme said as she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If it’s on tape, I assume it isn’t new?”

“Oh, no, of course not. It’s from 1949.” Ruprecht said this as if it were a good thing. “It’s a classic, and some consider it to be a criticism of marriage, which of course was topical for Japan in the late 1940s. However, it also comments on tradition versus modernity, which is a subject that anybody can enjoy.” His eyes lit up during this entire explanation, though I certainly wasn’t convinced that anybody could enjoy these things at all.

“That sounds nice, Ruprecht,” I lied, “but do you have any other options?” I tried my best not to sound like I was pleading.

“Well, I also have the
Rush Hour
trilogy.”

“Let’s watch that,” we all said in unison and with great relief.

“Okay, I’ll put it on. There are some snacks in the kitchen, just over there to the right.” He motioned with his hands to point it out. “Help yourselves, and I’ll make tea or coffee if anybody feels like some.” He didn’t seem at all sad about the prospect of changing films, which was reassuring. As much as I didn’t want to watch
Late Spring
, I also didn’t want to upset Ruprecht.

We watched the first two movies back-to-back. I’d figured that Jackie Chan movies were always the best way to forget about one’s problems, whether said problems were financial, homicidal, romantic, or anything in between. However, they didn’t do much to sate hunger, and my stomach started to rumble, despite my earlier intake of cauliflower.

“Oh, dear, look at the time!” Ruprecht suddenly shot out of his seat. “I hadn’t realized, but none of you have had dinner. I’ll prepare something immediately.” He ran—or more accurately, sort of shuffled quickly—out of the room and into the kitchen.

Thyme shot me a look, but I avoided her gaze. I wasn’t about to fess up to the others that I’d had dinner with Alder.

“Do you want help?” I called out to Ruprecht.

“No, no, you’re all guests here. Make yourselves comfortable,” Ruprecht replied, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought it polite to ask, but I didn’t want to burn his house down. I realized that perhaps he’d said no because it was me asking, but I just put this at the back of my mind and tried to relax.

We sat and talked about nothing in particular. Nobody wanted to talk about Sue. It was bad enough that Ruprecht believed we might be in danger and had called us here, so maybe it was better that we just tried to relax and forget about it for a night.

I decided to get changed now, before the movie started, and Camino showed me to the bedrooms. She handed me a folded onesie and opened the door to the bathroom. It was surprisingly free of clutter. I had half expected to have to climb a mountain of antiques. To the contrary, it was modern and spacious. I changed into the onesie Camino had lent me. Since it had been folded before, I hadn’t realized that it was an echidna onesie, complete with spikes, and a long nose on the hood. I swallowed my pride and put it on, hoping Alder wouldn’t happen to stumble through into Ruprecht’s house and see me. I knew he wouldn’t, but the thought still made me strangely nervous.

I felt a mixture of relief and worry when nobody mentioned how bizarre I looked as an echidna. I figured some of them probably didn’t think anything of it, and the others were just too polite. I wasn’t even sure why Camino owned something like this, but didn’t question the convenience of it.

After another half an hour of painstakingly delicious smells, Ruprecht appeared with several plates. I went into the kitchen and helped him bring out cutlery and drinks. The table in the living room wasn’t big enough to seat all of us, but we made space where we could and sat in a rough circle.

“Mediterranean vegetable parcels! I hope you enjoy them.” Ruprecht laid a plate down in front of me. Vegetables were packed tightly into a small parcel of rice paper, and coated in herbs. Baby tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini and more were lightly roasted and topped with herbs and feta cheese. It tasted even better than it smelled, and none of us spoke a word while we ate, though it didn’t take long.

“Now, I believe Detectives Lee and Carter were heading to Paris.” Ruprecht flicked on the third and final Rush Hour movie, and we watched in silence. Watching Jackie Chan always made me want to learn martial arts, which I thought was probably a good idea. What if I was attacked? After all, I found myself often—far too often—tracking down murderers. I gave up on the idea when I realized baking cakes was too much for me, and that I should focus on improving in one area at a time.

When the movie was over, we sat around and talked for a good while. It seemed obvious that we were all doing our very best to avoid mentioning the murder, or anything related to it.

I said a polite goodnight to everybody, and we were all shown to our rooms. Thyme and I were sharing a guest bedroom, but had separate single beds. We were both too tired to talk and immediately went to bed, but it was a long time before I managed to fall asleep. I had a feeling something bad was about to happen, and I knew it would affect me somehow.

Chapter 26

I had spent a strange night in Ruprecht’s house. I wondered if his house was somehow related to mine. Not that it did anything, but it reminded me of a Hollywood horror-film house, albeit in a good way. It gave the impression of underground tunnels buried beneath, of ancient priest holes—although there were none of those in Australia—and of hidden secrets possessed by the souls of those who had lived here in days gone by.

It was early morning. I always love this time of day, the quiet before most people are out and about. I got out of my car, yawned, and stretched. I was looking forward to taking a shower and changing my clothes. The onesie I had borrowed from Camino last night was a particularly scratchy one, most likely due to the all too realistic echidna spikes.

I looked at the black clouds gathering in the west. They appeared to be rolling in quickly, and already humidity hung heavily in the air. It was unusual to have humidity in the mountainous region of New South Wales, and I knew a storm was on its way. It was also unusual to have a storm in the morning. The sense of premonition I had felt the previous night was increasing in intensity, and I felt it had nothing to do with the storm.

I stood for a moment to look at my garden. The lavender buds had already wilted, and the rose bushes were starting to get some black spot on their leaves. Nevertheless, many roses were in bloom, and the heartsease, here a winter plant, were still thriving nicely. The bees were happily dancing around the flowers, and a wild duck with about twelve of her ducklings waddled quickly away from me, startled by my sudden appearance.

A strange prescience hit me, but it didn’t quite take shape. I walked up my pathway. As soon as I reached my porch, I heard the television blaring loudly. “Give it a rest!” I yelled at the house.

I unlocked the door, and at once noticed that something was wrong. It took me a moment to realize what it was. Where were Willow and Hawthorn? I shrugged. I expected they were giving me the cold shoulder for being absent the previous night.

I went to turn right, off the hallway into my bedroom, but the noise of the television was too much to bear. Instead, I turned left and opened the door to the living room. I walked straight across the room to the TV and turned it off, but even as I did so, I sensed that something was wrong. To my horror, I could smell gasoline. Where were the cats?

I swung around and there, huddled in a corner, was Victor Barnes.

It seemed even stranger to me, in my fright, that Willow and Hawthorn were draped all over him, purring, and he made no attempt to stop them. At first I thought he was dead.

He spoke then, his voice coming out as a faint croaking sound. “Make it stop.” It sounded to me as if he had tried to make his tone urgent, but failed. I called the cats away from him, and when they left, I saw his face and hands were covered with a terrible, angry red rash. His face was swollen, and his eyes were streaming. In fact, his eyes had been reduced to slits.

Next to him were a can of gasoline and a box of matches.

He looked to me to be someone who had left his last vestiges of sanity behind.

I stood, frozen to the spot. For a moment I was unsure what to do next. It was clear that the house had terrified Victor in a way that only the house could.

For that reason, I called Ruprecht before I called the police.

“You’ve done the right thing,” Ruprecht said. “In fact, don’t call the police until we get there. We’ll be right over.”

Despite the situation with which I was faced, it didn’t seem long before they all arrived. Ruprecht, Mint, Camino, and Thyme burst into the room. In the time it had taken them to get there, Victor had neither moved nor spoken again. His eyes were glazed over.

“Is he dead?” Camino asked me.

“No,” I said. “The house has given him a terrible fright, though.”

Ruprecht walked over and peered into Victor’s face for a while. Finally, he turned to me. “Call the police now, Amelia. Tell them you all had a sleepover at my house, and we all came back here together to find him sitting in the corner of your room next to a can of gasoline and a box of matches. Say as little else as possible.”

I did exactly as Ruprecht had asked.

While we were waiting for the police to arrive, Victor just sat there, as he had been, staring into space. “What’s going to happen when the police get here?” I asked Ruprecht.

“They will arrest him, of course,” he said.

“But why? Won’t they call it circumstantial evidence that he has a can of gasoline with him, and what will the police say about him being in that state?”

Ruprecht shook his head. “Let the police draw their own conclusions,” he said. “Don’t forget that Thyme put the black hen’s eggs in Sue’s hands, and that means that the murderer will reveal himself. Just wait and trust the process.”

I was inclined
not
to trust the process. Even though I was supposed to be a powerful witch, and a Dark Witch at that, I still couldn’t for the life of me see that Victor was suddenly going to jump to his feet and blab about his crimes to the police.

Ruprecht seemed to know what I was thinking, because he placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Just wait and see.”

“Should we do something, though?” I asked him. “Should we give him a truth potion or something?”

Camino stepped forward. “No, that won’t be necessary. The eggs have done their work already. Just wait.”

Her words were drowned by the blare of sirens. Ruprecht went out to meet the police, and soon returned with the two local police officers.

“Is he dead?” Constable Walker asked.

“No,” Ruprecht said. “He seems to be having some sort of psychotic episode.”

Sergeant Tinsdell and the constable walked over to Victor. His eyes flickered when he saw the two men in uniform bending over him. He finally found his voice. “Make Jamie Oliver stop!” he screamed. He scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, his hands over his ears. “Make Jamie Oliver stop!” he screamed again, pointing in the direction of the television.

The officers exchanged glances. “Walker, get the psych unit on the phone. Quick!”

Walker nodded and left the room. Sergeant Tinsdell turned to us. “Was he like this when you found him?”

We all nodded. “He could be allergic to cats,” I said. “My two cats were draped all over him.” The sergeant looked puzzled, so I added, “You know how cats are always attracted to people who don’t like them? And perhaps severe allergies can make someone lose their mind.”

The sergeant frowned and turned back to Victor. “Why did you break into Amelia Spelled’s house with a gas can?”

Victor finally looked away from the TV and then at the gas can. “She asked my wife, Simone, questions,” he said slowly, his eyes darting from side to side. “I thought she must’ve been in it with Sue Beckett, so I thought I’d get rid of her, too.”

The sergeant scratched his chin. “Please go on. What do you mean by saying she was in it with Sue Beckett?”

“The blackmailing racket, of course,” he said with a cackle. “At first, Sue Beckett didn’t want much money, but she kept asking for more and more. I knew it would never end. I broke into her house and found eleven photos of me, but they were all marked out of twelve, so I knew there was one missing. Anyway, there might’ve been copies. In the end, I had no choice but to kill her.”

“And how did you do that?” the sergeant asked him.

“It was easy.” Victor burst into laughter, which became more and more hysterical. We all just stood there looking at him. A chill ran up my spine.

Just as I was beginning to think that he wouldn’t say another word, he continued. “Simone keeps Botox in her salon and I just increased the dose. I read that ten times the dose could be dangerous, so I increased it even more than that. After Simone gave Sue the Botox treatment, I destroyed that vial, and replaced it with a standard one.”

Constable Walker returned and whispered something in the sergeant’s ear.

Sergeant Tinsdell nodded and turned back to Victor. “And why didn’t you set fire to Amelia Spelled’s house, Victor?”

This appeared to be the wrong thing to say to Victor, as he flung himself back down into his sitting position in the corner once more. “It was the house!” he yelled. “The house wouldn’t let me. And then there was Jamie Oliver!”

The officers exchanged glances once more. “Jamie Oliver attacked you?” the sergeant asked him.

“He was so loud. Jamie Oliver was loud. And the house tried to crush me.”

The sergeant looked at Constable Walker. “I’ve heard enough,” he said. “He’s just babbling utter nonsense now. Let’s take him down to the station and wait for the psych people to come and evaluate him.”

“I think he’s been watching too much TV,” Walker said. When Tinsdell quirked an eyebrow, he continued. “You know, thinking he can plead not guilty due to mental illness.”

The sergeant shook his head. “No. I think this one really is a burger shy of a combo meal.”

The officers led Victor out the door, and all the while Victor was looking around himself muttering wildly about Jamie Oliver being too loud, being allergic to cats, and the house trying to kill him.