Four Warned: A Cozy Mystery (Teas and Temptations Book 4) Read online

  She huffed her annoyance, pasted on a smile, and left Peter in charge of things while she made the pilgrimage to the table of honor.

  Father Christopher greeted her with a pleasant smile. He was clearly in his element, enjoying all the attention. She had to wonder if this was for his ego instead of to raise money for the church.

  “Hello, Father Christopher,” she said brightly. “I bring you my offering.” She placed it before him on the table and dipped in curtsy.

  He laughed. “Thank you, my child. I’m sure I will love it.”

  “Here’s mine, too,” Lucy said, coming up behind her. “If Hazel’s not waiting until the official time, then neither am I.”

  She widened her eyes innocently. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize there was an official time.”

  The priest waved away her worries. “Not a problem. After we all spoke the other day, I’ve been eagerly waiting to taste your tea and Lobster Lucy’s strawberry tart. If they are as good as you claim, I won’t need to sample anything else.”

  Hazel wanted to point out that as a judge, he was required to taste all the entries and he’d promised impartiality, but she kept her snarky comments to herself.

  She should have been honored that he chose to sample her iced tea first, but really, she couldn’t care less what he thought. This was all for show.

  He lifted the cup to his lips and savored the sip as though he was tasting a fine wine. “Excellent,” he said and smiled, and then took another drink.

  He winked at Hazel, making her skin crawl. “Now, let’s try this tasty tart, shall we?”

  Before he sunk his fork through the flaky crust, a wave of nausea rolled through her. Not the regular nausea she encountered when she was in the presence of a smarmy guy, but something more sinister circling around them.

  An overwhelming urge to tell him not to eat or drink anything else surged inside her. But if she said something, he’d question her reason, and then she might as well sign her death warrant.

  She held her breath as he took a bite, chewed, and then gave Lobster Lucy the same smile. “Perfection. I shouldn’t have expected otherwise.”

  Lucy preened over the praise, while Hazel exhaled in relief. She’d worried for nothing. She’d also had quite enough of his preening.

  “Thank you very much, Father. I’m pleased you enjoyed it.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Peter who watched with an annoying smile on his face. “I should probably get back to my table. I left Chief Parrish in charge, and who knows what he might do.”

  Father Christopher laughed and dismissed her with a nod as a king might do to a peasant.

  When she was close enough that no one would see but Peter, she rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she whispered and joined him behind the table.

  “He’s definitely in his element.”

  “I’d say.”

  A piercing scream cut through their chitchat and drove a stake of terror into her heart. She looked toward the sound and discovered Father Christopher clutching at his throat and reaching out toward the crowd with his other.

  “He’s choking,” someone yelled.

  “He needs his Epi Pen,” another called out.

  Mrs. Tillens jumped up from a nearby table. “I’ll get it.” She hurried off toward the church as fast as her elderly legs would carry her.

  Many rushed forward, blocking Hazel’s view.

  Peter placed a hand in front of her chest, preventing her from moving. “Stay here.” Then he rushed toward the crowd.

  She paused for half a second. “As if,” she muttered and then followed him.

  Four

  The crowd swallowed Peter before Hazel could catch up to him. She nudged between the townsfolk, slowly making her way to the ailing priest amidst cries of “Help him!” and “Do the Heimlich maneuver”.

  She finally squeezed into a position where she could see the priest slumped over the table, his face squashing the delightful strawberry tart Lucy had just presented to him. If the bluish tinge to his face was any indication, she knew he didn’t have much time. If any.

  “I need everyone to take a giant step back,” Peter commanded.

  They all did, including Hazel.

  With the help of another man, Peter laid Father Christopher out on the grass and tilted his head back to open his airway. Some folks chose to leave, while the more curious ones like her stayed to gawk.

  Someone gripped her elbow, and Hazel turned to find Cora clutching her and watching the disturbing scene before them. “What happened?” she whispered.

  Hazel shook her head. “I’m not sure. He was completely fine a few moments ago when Lucy and I presented him with our offerings. I’d barely made it back to my table when this all happened. Sounds like some people think he had an allergic reaction or he choked on something.”

  Mrs. Lemon joined them. She clucked her tongue, and Hazel thought it was fitting since she sported a ridiculous cotton-stuffed chicken on top. “It’s the May Day Curse.”

  Hazel drew her brows together. “May Day Curse? What does that mean?”

  Cora nodded solemnly. “Every forty years, someone dies on May first. I’ve heard that it’s happened consistently since olden times, but I didn’t really believe it. Until now.”

  Hazel scoffed. “Every forty years? Isn’t it likely that it’s a naturally occurring phenomenon?” The town was notorious for looking for reasons to blame witches for bad things.

  Mrs. Lemon adjusted her hat, tilting it so the stuffed didn’t lean so far to the right. “People drop like clockwork. I don’t remember who died when I was ten years old. But when I was fifty, I certainly remember that crazy old coot, Jefferson, when, out of the blue, he tripped on the sidewalk and split his head wide open.”

  The chicken’s feet hanging off the edge of her hat momentarily distracted Hazel. She blinked and refocused. “Someone dies the first of May every forty years?”

  Cora and Mrs. Lemon both nodded.

  The older woman took her hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry dear. You’ll be in your sixties before it happens again, and it likely won’t be you. I’ll be dead and buried, so I won’t have to worry about it killing me.”

  Hazel lifted a confused brow. Had the sweet, little lady just told her that being dead would save her from dying?

  Cora caught her eye and shook her head as though to encourage her to let the comment lie.

  Mrs. Tillens called out and hurried their way. “I’ve got the Epi Pen!”

  From what Hazel could tell, there wasn’t much hope for the Father, and her heart broke for the dear old lady and what she was about to discover.

  Sirens screamed through the once-quiet, sunny day, and the crowd further dispersed. Paramedics rushed forward and took over for Peter.

  By then, Peter’s men had also assembled. “Give Father Christopher his privacy,” Officer John Bartles said and forced them to move away.

  “Oh, goodness.” Mrs. Lemon pointed toward Mrs. Tillens who now sat at a table not far from poor Father Christopher, her face ashen and one hand over her heart. A medic knelt in front of her, checking her pulse. “I’d better get to Iris. She’s not faring so well.”

  “Of course,” Hazel said. She considered offering her assistance but knew she’d be in the way. “What a horrible day.”

  Hazel walked with Cora toward their tables. As they did, she leaned close enough to whisper. “Seriously, how many bad things are they going to blame on innocent witches?”

  “Oh, plenty,” Cora responded. “There’s the time when lightning cancelled the town’s baseball playoffs. The year we ended up with a pothole in the road the size of Texas. Okay, it really wasn’t that big, but it was bad.”

  Cora paused to glance over her shoulder before continuing. “Most accusations aren’t true, but there is one that I believe is. Stonebridge will never be able to remove all magic from town. The curse proclaimed that at least one descendant from each of the original witches will always reside here.”

  Hazel
also glanced toward the commotion still ensuing over Father Christopher’s body to ensure no one paid attention to them or their conversation. “A descendant from all of the witches?” She boxed one of her glass tea containers.

  Cora began to disassemble another of them. “That’s right. Glenys descends from Eliza. Belinda was from Scarlet. Timothy from Lily.”

  The conversation swerved in a direction Hazel hadn’t anticipated, and she swallowed the rising lump in her throat, thinking about her own witch grandmother, Clarabelle. Cora hadn’t mentioned her relative. If Hazel didn’t ask, that would be obvious and awkward. And if she did…the same.

  Guilt poured over her like freezing rain for not being a better friend. “Clarabelle’s offspring?”

  Cora gave her a pointed look, and Hazel realized that she already knew.

  “Is me,” Hazel finished and put the final tea container in its box.

  She nodded.

  If she wanted her new friends to trust her, she needed to start trusting them, too. Cora had been nothing but loyal and kind to her. “How long have you known?”

  Cora snorted and slid the bright yellow and pink cloth from the table to fold. “Since her cat took up residence at your house. Remember? We talked about it, though we didn’t say it in so many words. I thought you knew that I knew.”

  She hadn’t. “But having that darned cat stalk me didn’t necessarily make me a direct descendant.” Did it? There was so much about this town and her history that she didn’t know.

  “Trust me. Many a witch have tried to get him to become their familiar. He’s a particularly discerning cat, and there’s no other reason he’d choose you.”

  “He’s a royal pain in the butt, is what he is.” Although, he had come through for her recently. Still, she hated to give him too much credit and puff up his already huge ego and snarky attitude. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  Cora tucked the tablecloth into Hazel’s bag, and Hazel added the leftover plastic cups. “I didn’t want to rush you. From what I gathered, you knew none of this before coming to Stonebridge. I figured we had time to work our way through things.”

  Hazel paused cleaning up and met Cora’s gaze. “I wish I felt like I had time. It seems like everything is coming at me full speed.”

  “Once again, I’ll say that your mother and grandmother did you a huge disservice by not telling you these things.”

  Hazel drew a strand of hair across her lips as she thought back through her childhood and early adult years, searching for clues she might have missed. “I’m not sure they knew anything, either. There’s nothing I can pinpoint that says, ha, you should have seen this coming.”

  “Maybe that explains why we’ve waited so long to have someone from Clarabelle’s line to complete the circle.”

  Each of them picked up a box and headed toward Peter’s truck, thoughts still percolating in Hazel’s mind. She knew he’d be at the scene for a while, so he’d have to drop off her stuff later. She could walk home or catch a ride with Cora, but not with all her boxes, too.

  She lifted a container into Peter’s truck and frowned. “But I thought the curse said someone from each line would always live in Stonebridge. Who was the one before me then? Was the curse wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe if you didn’t know about your heritage, then other witches didn’t either. Maybe someone was here all along and recently left.”

  Maybe none of them would ever know.

  The chaos surrounding Father Christopher increased as they lifted him onto a gurney. She’d like to feel bad that the priest was no longer a physical being, but the vibes from him that she’d encountered weren’t good. Instinct told her the citizens would be better off without him, and that was a sad thing.

  “Does Father Christopher have any family that we know of?” Hazel could feel empathy for those folks.

  “I believe he has a brother in New York, but they were never close. He’s the only person I ever heard Father Christopher talk about.”

  Hazel couldn’t say she was surprised.

  She stepped closer to Cora. “Can I tell you something?”

  Her friend nodded.

  “I’m almost certain I felt something weird happening when I was at Father Christopher’s table. Like a warning or something.”

  Instead of responding, Cora shifted her gaze away from Hazel and stiffened.

  Hazel turned to see what had stolen her attention. Officer Bartles strode toward them, and Hazel’s anxiety rocketed straight to fight or flight mode. The usual smile he wore was missing and had been replaced by something darker.

  Hazel made sure to mask her features as well. “Hello, John.”

  “Cora. Hazel.” He nodded to each of them. “Hazel, I need to ask you to come to the station with me for questioning.”

  Unwanted surprise burst inside her. “Me? What for?”

  Officer Bartles studied her with an intensity that left her leery. “It appears that Father Christopher may have met with foul play, and you were one of the last to speak to him.”

  “Foul play?” She took a step back. “I only delivered a glass of tea to him. I barely know the man.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “I understand. Please, if you’ll accompany me?”

  Hazel glanced at Cora before searching for Peter amongst the crowd. Someone needed to talk sense into Officer Bartles. “I’m sorry, John. I feel like maybe you received bad information or misunderstood. I had nothing to do with Father Christopher’s death.”

  His lips curved into a kind smile. “Hazel. I don’t doubt that you’re innocent, but certain circumstances, which we won’t be discussing here, require that I question you. I’m only doing my job.” He held out a hand to indicate she should step forward.

  She wasn’t sure why her heart pounded in uneven thumps. She had nothing to hide. But even a hint of wrongdoing on her part left her sick. “Does Peter know about this?”

  He gave her another condescending smile that rubbed like a pebble in her shoe. “Yes, ma’am. This is standard procedure. The sooner we go, the sooner you can get back to your life. Assuming, you know, that you’re innocent.” He winked, which she didn’t find funny at all.

  She glanced once more at Cora and then tossed up her hands in defeat. “Let’s go then.”

  She walked with John in stony silence toward the street where several Stonebridge Police Department SUVs and cruisers had parked. He opened the passenger door of the SUV on the corner, and she climbed in, fuming. What a waste of taxpayer dollars.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Peter striding across the church lawn toward John with an unhappy look on his face. John headed toward him.

  If body language was any indication, Peter had not been fully aware of John’s activities. Peter gestured toward where Hazel waited and then pointed a stern finger at John’s chest.

  Satisfaction spread through her like warm honey. She wasn’t sure exactly what Peter was saying, but she knew he was defending her, and she liked it.

  The sound of a loud engine and screeching tires drew her gaze to the front windshield. She turned in time to see the black blur of a small, two-door hatchback careen wildly around the corner, overcorrect, and head straight in her direction.

  Instinctively, she closed her eyes.

  The car hit with enough force to slam her against the passenger door. Tiny squares of glass rained from the driver’s side window as metal crunched in response.

  She fought to catch her breath. The sound of her thundering heart filled the space around her.

  Then people yelling pierced her reality as though her ears had begun working again. The passenger door jerked open, and Peter reached in with strong arms and surrounded her.

  “Are you okay?” he said with emotion clinging to his words.

  She hesitated and then nodded. Besides the fright, she didn’t think she’d sustained any damage. Except maybe she’d bumped the side of her head.

  None of it made sense right now.
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  Peter pulled her from the vehicle into a world of chaos. Officers left Father Christopher with one of the paramedics, and the rest of the first responders raced past her and into the road.

  The front end of the black vehicle had been firmly planted into the side of the police SUV. The windshield on the driver’s side was cracked like a spider web radiating out from a center point that appeared to be bloody.

  She wanted to do something, say something, but her body resisted.

  A crew of officers opened the driver’s door, and from the looks on their faces, she knew the outcome was bad.

  “Hazel!” Cora raced toward her. “Oh, my stars.” She looked her over frantically. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  “Stay with her,” Peter commanded and then peered into Hazel’s eyes. “I need to assess the situation. Let Cora take you to the medical center.”

  “I’m…” She was surprised to find her words shaky. “I’m okay.”

  He glanced over her head to Cora. “Make sure someone looks at her. Take her to the medic over there if nothing else. Then take her home, please.”

  Hazel fought to keep her head clear. “What about the questioning?”

  Peter gave her a pointed look. “It can wait.”

  Cora nodded and then wrapped an arm about Hazel’s waist and led her away. “There’s nothing we can do here but pray to the Blessed Mother. It seems the curse has taken two from us this year. We’re lucky it wasn’t three.”

  Five

  An hour after Hazel crashed on her couch with an ice pack across her forehead, someone rang her doorbell. She didn’t move or open her eyes. After the day she’d had, she wanted nothing more to do with the outside world.

  Unfortunately, she could hear Cora cross the carpet and step onto her tiled entryway. The door squeaked as she opened it, and Hazel made a mental note to oil the hinges as soon as she could care about anything again.

  Which might not be for a long time.

  “Hazel here?” Officer Bartles’ voice carried across the room.

  She would have cringed if it wouldn’t have made her head hurt.