Pawsitively Poisonous Read online

That vein in his temple twitched again. “I’d like to hear it from you directly, Miss Blackwood.”

  With a sigh, she said, “Passionflower and valerian root are the main ingredients. There are some trace amounts of vanilla for flavor.”

  “And when did she purchase this from you?”

  “I gave it to her this morning when she came in complaining of a headache,” Amber said.

  “Gave it to her,” he said. “So there’s no record of a transaction taking place?”

  “No,” said Amber. “Her payment to me was to get—” Throat suddenly tight, Amber willed the tears back. Willed her anger to return so she could get through this conversation and get this man out of her shop so she could grieve in peace for her friend. “Her payment was to get better.”

  “I see …” he said, tucking the bag back into his pocket. “Were there any other customers in the shop at the time who can back up your story?”

  Amber sighed. “No, it was just us.”

  “I see,” he repeated. “I’ll be sending the vial to Portland to be analyzed so we can find out just what Miss Cole ingested.”

  “Good,” Amber said. “And when you learn what’s in it, you’ll see that every ingredient is natural.”

  “Just like those toys my son keeps bringing home.”

  Amber pursed her lips, a thought niggling in the back of her mind. “Why are you here? Is there something suspicious about her death? You seem to have immediately jumped to the theory that something was done to her, not that this was an unfortunate incident. She’d been sick on and off for weeks.”

  “That’s not something I can discuss with you at this time, Miss Blackwood. This is an ongoing investigation.”

  Yeah, an investigation that had begun all of an hour ago. Was Chief Brown frothing at the mouth over Melanie’s death because he was desperate to find something concretely wrong he could connect Amber to, or was he missing the fast-paced life he’d had in Portland where potentially mysterious deaths had surely happened on a daily basis?

  An idea struck her.

  Knowing said idea was a terrible one, she closed the distance between herself and Owen in five quick steps and placed a hand on his arm. She felt the heat of his skin through his long-sleeved shirt. “Was Melanie’s death not an accident?”

  Though she’d need skin-to-skin contact to be able to hear a person’s last thought replay in her head, she mentally uttered the incantation all the same. A flash of images popped into Amber’s mind and she staggered back a step, flinching.

  Owen snatched his arm toward his body, holding his elbow as if she’d singed him. No one could feel the effects of a thought-spell, so she knew Owen was reacting to her flinch, not anything she’d done directly to him.

  Lip curling slightly, he said, “Like I said, it’s an ongoing investigation. I cannot discuss details of the case with you.” He straightened, tugging the sleeves down on either arm so the cuffs rested comfortably at his wrists. “I’ll be in touch again soon, Miss Blackwood.”

  With that, he sauntered out of her shop without another word.

  When Amber was sure he was gone, she doubled over, tears flowing freely. She held onto the counter to keep herself upright, but her wracking sobs soon took her to her knees. She rested her head on the floor, body heaving.

  Not only had her friend died, but that flash of images unknowingly supplied by Owen—like a short series of crisp crime-scene photos—had been of blue-tinged lips and nails.

  Amber had known in that moment what had happened.

  Melanie had been poisoned.

  Chapter 3

  Amber sat with her back against the counter, legs folded beneath her. With her eyes closed, she took slow, calming breaths. When she heard the tinkle of the bell above her shop door, she let out a soft, involuntary groan. The winter months were slow in Edgehill. It wasn’t until the trees grew their leaves, the flowers blossomed, and the temperature shifted from cold to chilly to warm that tourists started to venture to the feline haven that was Edgehill.

  After the scheduled toy demonstration that morning, Amber hadn’t anticipated any more customers today. She didn’t want to fake niceties on the day her friend very possibly had been murdered.

  Something hard thumped lightly against her knee. Giving a start, she opened her eyes to meet the steady gaze of a Maine Coon. Savannah bumped against Amber’s knee once more, gave a soft chirp, and flopped over onto her back in front of Amber’s crossed legs.

  Savannah’s front paws flopped on top of her chest, her expression clearly saying, “Go on. You know you want to.”

  Amber sniffed and gave a watery laugh before burying her fingers in the long, soft fur on Savannah’s stomach. Savannah squinted her eyes closed and turned her purr on full force.

  A few moments later, Amber heard, “How you holding up, hon?”

  Continuing to rub Savannah’s belly, Amber looked up to find Betty Harris standing nearby, one arm propped on a pyramid-shaped bookshelf stocked with guides on herbs, gardening, and crafts. Betty was an African-American woman in her mid-sixties, her hair cropped short. Her eyes were as bright blue as Savannah’s.

  Amber managed a half-hearted shrug, then refocused on the purring Maine Coon.

  “I saw that grouchy old Owen Brown over here earlier,” Betty said. “Was he giving you trouble?”

  Knowing Betty likely knew as much as she did at this point—Edgehill might have been behind the times in some ways, but the rumor mill ran faster than the Wi-Fi down at the Purrcolate coffee shop—Amber told Betty about her run-in with the chief, and the fact that the man seemed to have a very short suspect list, with Amber herself at the top.

  “What hogwash,” Betty said, clucking her tongue. “I’ve known you since you and Willow were babies. I knew your parents quite well—God rest their souls—and you’re one of the last people I’d ever think capable of such a thing. I don’t know why that man has always turned his nose up at you.”

  Amber sighed. “Thanks, Betty.”

  After a moment, Amber still massaging the purring Savannah, Betty said, “You need anything, baby? I know you and Mel were close.”

  “All I want to know is who did this to her,” Amber said. “Melanie never hurt anyone.”

  Betty made another clucking sound, softer this time, and Amber’s fingers stilled in Savannah’s fur. The cat gave a light trill of protest.

  When Amber cocked an eyebrow at Betty, the woman shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my business.”

  Betty hadn’t actually said anything, but that clucking tongue of hers was sometimes more informative than words could ever be.

  Savannah scrambled to her feet then, quickly padded across the shop, presumably to the spot where Amber always kept a small bowl of water and a couple treats out, should one of the town’s cats drop in for a visit. While most people in Edgehill had pet cats, there was a large population of strays who lived in town. For some reason, the stray cats of Edgehill had always been friendly. No one knew why the cats congregated here. But instead of shooing them away, Edgehill’s founders had built a town around them.

  “Betty …” Amber said, standing and taking a couple of steps forward. “Do you know something?”

  Betty pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “It’s not my place. And it’s just a rumor, really. Not right to spread rumors about the poor girl on a day like today. Even if it is true.” She held up her hands, placating. “And I’m not saying it is.”

  Amber sniffed, rubbing the heel of a hand against one of her eyes. She was sure they had to be a puffy mess by now. “Please tell me. If it’ll help figure out who might have hurt her …”

  Betty huffed out a breath. “This is all speculation, mind you. I can only go by what little I’ve heard.”

  Amber managed a small smile. “Betty, c’mon. We both know you hear more gossip than a hairstylist. You lure them in with Savannah’s baby blues and then get them so hopped up on your sinful cupcakes, they’ll te
ll you anything.”

  Betty never backed down from a compliment. “I do have the best cupcakes in town.”

  “Try in the state.”

  After a moment, Betty asked, “What do you know about that man Melanie was seeing?”

  “Not much,” Amber said, surprised she hadn’t thought of the mystery man again until now. “I just know they met on a dating site and were apparently getting serious. He lives over in Marbleglen.”

  Betty clucked her tongue at the name of Edgehill’s rival town. Most Edgehill residents felt … strongly about Marbleglen. It was mostly civil, like fans of rival sports teams. But the smallest slight could set off the wrong person in seconds.

  Amber had once seen a bar brawl break out between an Edgehill citizen who had casually said the Here and Meow Cat Festival was exceedingly superior to Marbleglen’s Floral Frenzy Flower Festival, held every year around the same time. The next thing anyone had known, the two men had been rolling around on the ground, throwing blows and colorful insults, after one of them had splashed an entire pitcher of beer in the other’s face.

  “Well, that’s the thing …” said Betty now, pulling Amber back into the conversation. “Most people thought that … that he was some guy from the next town over. But I’ve heard from at least two reliable sources that she was seeing … oh, I don’t know if I should say this …”

  “Betty …”

  “It was Derrick Sadler.” Betty winced.

  It took a second for that information to organize itself in Amber’s head. “But he’s married!”

  Betty knowingly rose her eyebrows. “Hearsay.”

  Amber folded her arms, thinking. Derrick’s wife, Whitney, had been on the Here and Meow Committee with Melanie. Melanie had been voted in as the festival director for this year. Whitney had continued on as the finance chair for the fourth year in a row. Amber herself was on the committee as head of the festival’s design, but really, she was just the mouthpiece for Willow, who worked on everything from afar, emailing Amber with mockups for flyers, posters, and the like. Willow worked in Portland as a graphic designer at a small advertising firm.

  When the festival was a couple of weeks out, Willow would join Amber in Edgehill to help in a more hands-on way. Hands-on meant that Amber and Willow would magic their way through several tasks that would take a normal human twice as long to complete.

  Amber tried to think of the countless interactions she’d seen between Melanie Cole and Whitney Sadler and not one struck her as even remotely suspicious.

  “Amber, dear?”

  Snapping out of her thoughts, she glanced up at Betty, who now had Savannah rubbing against one of her pantlegs. “Sorry,” Amber said. “It’s just … it’s hard to believe Melanie would be—had been—keeping a secret like that.”

  Betty nodded. “Just a rumor.”

  Savannah chirped.

  With a smile aimed down at her cat, Betty said, “You hungry?”

  “I’m guessing she already cleaned me out of treats,” Amber said.

  Savannah sauntered toward the door.

  Betty laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.” After pulling Amber into a quick, tight hug, Betty held her out at arm’s length. She smelled like sugar. “I’m just across the way if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s just to talk. I’ll whip you up some of those coconut cream cupcakes you like so much.”

  Amber nodded slightly. “That sounds great.”

  “All right, hon,” Betty said. “I’ll come check on you soon.”

  Amber watched as Betty and Savannah left the shop, the chime tinkling as the door clanked shut behind them.

  Had Melanie truly been having an affair with Derrick Sadler? Derrick and Whitney had always seemed happy, but Amber wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all outwardly happy couples were happy in private, too. Who knew what the realities were inside the Sadler household. Or what lies—or truths—Derrick had told Melanie about the state of his marriage.

  A committee meeting was scheduled for three days from now. Amber had never talked to Whitney much beyond things directly related to the Here and Meow.

  On Friday, Amber planned to get to know Whitney Sadler a little better.

  In a move both self-serving and rooted in sympathy, Amber called Kimberly Jones on Friday morning to ask if she wanted to ride with her to Purrcolate for the bi-weekly festival meeting. She knew Kimberly had to be out of her mind with anxiety after last night’s town hall.

  “Oh my God, Amber, thank you for calling,” Kimberly answered breathlessly when Amber offered to drive. “I have most of Melanie’s notes and access to her spreadsheets—she sent me copies of everything—but there’s so much to do!”

  “I figured,” said Amber. “Maybe you need an assistant now, too.”

  Kimberly laughed semi-hysterically. “Are you volunteering? Because I accept!”

  “Oh, I’d be a terrible assistant,” Amber said. “But maybe one of the other ladies who’ve been doing this for a while will be able to help you. I wouldn’t hesitate to ask for help; everyone will understand.”

  “Okay, yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I just need to center my chi.”

  After a long pause, filled mostly with Kimberly’s breaths, Amber said, “So should I come pick you up at six?”

  “Oh my God, Amber, yes please,” she said. “You’re an absolute doll.”

  Amber wasn’t, though. Amber was a sneaky, sneaky witch who had been obsessing over the possibility that Melanie had been having an affair with a married man. Under normal circumstances, Amber might have turned her nose up a little at the fact that her friend had been partaking in infidelity, but in these circumstances, Amber kept wondering if Melanie’s secret affair had anything to do with her death.

  Which was why Amber sat idling outside of Kimberly’s house at 6 p.m. on the dot, with two steaming cups of hot chocolate—Kimberly’s favorite. Amber fired off a quick text to let Kim know she was out front.

  Amber’s mind drifted to last night, when Mayor Deidrick had called for a meeting specifically about the festival, wanting to gauge the town’s reaction to keeping the Here and Meow running as usual despite Melanie’s tragic end. Though it had only been two days since Melanie had been found dead, the rumor that her death had been the result of foul play had already made the rounds.

  Business at the Quirky Whisker was slow during the winter months anyway, but Amber couldn’t tell if it was the brisk weather that had kept many customers from gracing her shop’s doorstep over the last couple days, or Owen Brown’s suspicions about her.

  During the town hall, some called for the Here and Meow to be postponed until the killer was apprehended, while others felt the festival should continue full steam ahead because that’s what Melanie would have wanted. Even the small contingent of Dog Lovers United had chimed in, making their yearly plea to turn the festival into a joint canine and feline event but, as usual, they’d been shut down. Many thought it was in poor taste to suggest a drastic change to the festival Melanie had already put so much work into.

  Eventually, it was decided to keep things running as planned, and that Kimberly should take Melanie’s place, since she’d been Melanie’s assistant. Kimberly had joined the mayor at the front of the room to a series of cheers and applause, but she’d been so pale, Amber had wondered if she was going to pass out.

  The front door to Kim’s house opened now and Amber watched her hurry across the driveway, loaded down with a laptop bag and what looked like two purses. She pulled the passenger-side door open and practically flung herself inside, bags piled in her lap. Slamming the car door shut, Kim threw her head back against the headrest and let out a long, gusty sigh as if she’d just run a marathon.

  Amber eyed the out-of-breath brunette and hid a smile. Kimberly really hadn’t changed an iota since high school. Amber held the cup wrapped in a protective cardboard sleeve out to Kimberly.

  Kim perked up at the smell of chocolate and turned toward Amber. “Oh my God, Amber, you really ar
e a doll. Is this … is this your hot chocolate?”

  “You better believe it.”

  Kimberly squealed excitedly. Disentangling herself from the various straps draped over her thin frame, Kimberly let the bags fall between her feet on the floor and grabbed the cup, placing her nose by the little spout and inhaling deeply. “Oh! You even sprinkled it with cayenne pepper!”

  “Of course. I never forget an order.”

  Amber’s hot chocolate was often a top seller during Halloween events.

  Kimberly took a swig of the drink and let out a dreamy sigh, melting against her seat. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

  Amber took a sip of her own hot chocolate before placing it in the cupholder and pulling out onto the road. Though they were meeting at a coffee shop, Amber had known Kimberly wouldn’t be able to resist her hot chocolate.

  Which meant Amber could guarantee that the tonic she slipped into Kimberly’s drink would be ingested without a problem. Amber felt guilty, but if anyone knew about Melanie’s potential affair, it was Kim. Amber hadn’t wanted to berate the woman with questions on the drive, running the risk that Kim would think Amber had offered her a ride solely to pump her for information—which would have been the truth. Instead, the tonic would make sure Kim believed she’d willingly told Amber everything she wanted to hear.

  Sneaky, sneaky witch.

  Assuming the tonic had been mixed properly, that is. It wasn’t as easy to test out a gossip tonic as it was to work out the kinks in an animated toy. For tonics, one needed guinea pigs. And Amber’s best guinea pig had moved to Portland to work in advertising.

  Kimberly took another sip of her hot chocolate. “Oh, this is so good, Amber. I know it’s a seasonal drink and no one wants to drink hot chocolate in, say, summer, but this stuff is absolutely to die—”

  When Kim abruptly stopped talking, Amber shot a quick glance at her to see her bottom lip shaking.

  Knowing Kim was now mentally chastising herself for her choice of words, Amber said, “Melanie had such a sick sense of humor—I bet she would have thought that was funny.” Slipping into an impression of Melanie, she said, “Oh, that’s real classy, Kim!”