Nearly two hours later, mere moments before dawn, there was a light knock on the door.
Bethany stood on the porch with her arms full of dolls. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t spent so much time with you the last few days. I woke up to a voice telling me to grab some of my old dolls and bring them over here. I hope they’ll work.”
Ayden pulled her into the house, giving her a huge hug of relief. He left her staring at the lit Christmas tree and ran off toward the attic. Returning with several of his old toys, they laid them out before the tree, stuffed the stockings, and collapsed on the couch.
A slight chill hung in the air as Ayden wrapped one arm around Bethany to snuggle. He raised his other hand and blew across his palm; a spark floated across the room to the fireplace. The wood caught instantly, a gentle fire warming the room as they both nodded off.
“Merry Christmas, little brother.”
Author K. Laslie
K. Laslie resides in Louisville, KY with an amazing wife and two sons. While writing is only one of his methods of relaxation and escape from the real world, he was shocked to find that he enjoyed it so much once he began. His characters never cease to amaze him as they jump genres and any boundaries he may set for them. Find him online at Facebook.
The Witch’s Brew
Heather Marie Adkins
Chapter One
“Did you hear Cole Nolte’s wife left him last night?”
I looked up from the oven timer, more interested in what my best friend had just said than how much time the almond-butter crescent rolls had left to bake. “You’re not serious?”
Jasmine Keeler nodded, her kohl-lined gray eyes twinkling. She plopped onto a stool at the counter, with caramel-colored curls bouncing around her heart-shaped face. “She did. I don’t know much beyond they had a big ol’ fight half the neighborhood could hear, and Crissy Nolte screeched away in a Porsche with some guy. Divorce was screamed more than once.”
“Oh, my goodness. Poor Cole.”
I’d known Cole since freshman year of high school, when his family moved to Tates Creek after his daddy took the police chief’s job. Our town is small, so even though we weren’t buddy-buddy, we’d been familiar with each other for a long time. Cole was always kind to me, even in my awkward stage. He’d driven me home from school during inclement weather, seein’ as his daddy lived real close to my mama. As a result, I’d harbored a schoolgirl crush on him in the fifteen years since.
The beep of the oven timer startled me from my thoughts, and I yanked open the door. Hot, buttery air flooded out, tossing my long strawberry-blonde hair away from my face. I reached a mittened hand inside and extracted the cookie sheet to rest on the counter while I put the next batch of goodies in — chocolate peppermint scones in honor of Yule next week.
I held a hand over the doughy scones, closed my eyes, and murmured under my breath, “Yuletide cheer and a blessed new year.” Intention sprinkled from my fingertips like powdered sugar, coating the scones in a layer visible only to my eye. I liked to think of my magic as an extra special ingredient to make someone’s day even better.
Jasmine picked up a snow globe from the counter and turned it over between her long-nailed fingers. She hit the switch to light up blue the snowy wonderland inside and cranked the knob. A tinkling version of “My Favorite Things” began to play. “I thought you’d like to know, since you’ve slobbered over him basically half our lives.”
“Hush your mouth.” I closed the oven door on the scones and set the timer for twenty minutes. “Put that down before you break it. My grandmama gave it to me.”
“Don’t act like she’s dead, and it’s some precious artifact,” Jasmine said, laughing. “Your ornery grandma is down the street at Bertie Mae’s eating her weight in eggs and bacon like she does every damn morning.”
I groaned, tossing my oven mitt to the counter before I crossed to fire up the espresso machine. “Don’t I know it. Mama gave her a what-for last week about her cholesterol and how much money she’s been spending there. We aren’t rich, you know.”
“Now you sound like your mother. You can’t lie to me, Daiya. The Witch’s Brew is the most popular place in this town. I know you’re doing just fine.”
She wasn’t just being nice, either. I opened my humble little coffee shop a year-and-a-half before with my daddy’s inheritance. I didn’t have any expectations, but boy, did it take off. Seemed I couldn’t make it through a day without running out of everything.
“But back to the original conversation,” I said, firmly steering Jasmine away from my kooky family. “Crissy Nolte was in here last night.”
“No way!”
“Right before I closed.” I took the steam pitcher of water down and grabbed my razor blade to clean the steam wand. It soaked overnight in an ice bath so it was good and ready for me to shave clean the next morning. “Crissy got a large Brewlatte with extra cinnamon and a crescent roll. She seemed normal as could be.”
I neglected to mention to Jasmine how I’d set an eensy-weensy hex on Crissy’s latte to make the woman’s hair fall out. Not huge chunks or anything; just a harmless few extra strands in her brush to worry her. Yes, a juvenile thing to do, but I’d hated the woman since high school, where she’d tormented me in every way a popular girl could.
“Normal for Crissy is pretty bad.” Jasmine cringed. “Do you remember when she stole your clothes in gym class freshman year, and you had to wear your stinky gym shorts all day?”
I rolled my eyes. “How could I forget? That was my favorite shirt, and I never got it back.”
“I’m think I saw Crissy wearing it sophomore year.”
“Of course you did.” I sighed. “Well, Cole’s better off without her, in my opinion. He’s too good for her.”
“Me-ow!” Jasmine teased. “Somebody already has her sights set on Cole Nolte, huh?”
“I do not.” I gestured to the espresso machine. “The Marzocco’s warm. What do you want to drink?”
I could deny it all I wanted, but the truth would out. Cole Nolte was back on the market. He may have been married to Crissy for almost ten years, but he had to get over her at some point, right? And I firmly intended to not miss my chance this time.
*
After Jasmine cut out to go to work, I finished my opening duties and found Geena Smithton waiting outside the door when I turned on my glowing green Open sign.
“You’ll never believe!” she greeted me, rushing past as I held the door open. A gust of cold December air followed her in.
In the eighteen months my coffee shop had been open, Geena had always been my first customer of the day. She ran the antiques store next door to The Witch’s Brew. She was also my mama’s best friend, and as such, had been like a second mama to me. She also had the biggest mouth this side of the Mississippi.
I plugged in the string of multi-colored holiday lights that decorated my front window. “Cole Nolte’s wife left him?” I supplied.
“Aw, shucks, Daiya Jean. You take all the fun out of gossiping.”
“Nobody could take the fun out of gossiping for you, Geena.”
“You’re right.” She sat on a bar stool and cracked her knuckles. Today, she’d restrained her long salt-and-pepper hair with a colorful pair of chopsticks. Thick, full bangs covered her forehead and lightened sapphire eyes a decade younger than the crow’s feet suggested. “Lordy, I was up till ’bout near midnight decorating that damn tree. Lolly told me if we didn’t have that tree decorated by December 15th, then Santa wouldn’t bring her a Barbie Ford Mustang.”
“Is Santa really bringing a four-year-old a Barbie Ford Mustang?” I asked incredulously as I filled a steam pitcher with coconut milk and set it to steam. Geena liked her Brewlatte with coconut milk and hazelnut. I gently rotated the steam pitcher as it worked and silently chanted, Strength I give, for your gifts to receive. Living with her four-year-old granddaughter wore the old woman out.
“She sure is getting that damn
Barbie Mustang.” Geena rolled her eyes, reaching over the counter to snag a crescent roll from the cooling tray. “I tried to tell my good-for-nothing daughter that was an outrageous gift, but does she listen? No. Too busy talking up that boy at the Walgreens.”
I pointed my long metal stirring spoon menacingly at her face. “That ‘boy’ at the Walgreens is my cousin Jamie, and you know good and well he’d be a great match for Lucy.”
“Pish tosh.” Geena waved me away. “He egged my house once.”
“When he was twelve. Almost twenty years ago.”
“Well, he should have thought about his actions then if he wanted to date my daughter.”
“You are absurd,” I told her, sliding her finished latte across the counter.
“No more so than your mother.” Geena took an experimental sip and closed her eyes. “Good Lord, Daiya Pettigrew. I don’t know where I’d be without your coffee. It’s like magic.”
“You’d be picking up sixteen ounces of sludge at Bertie Mae’s.”
We both cringed and laughed.
“Anyway, listen to this,” Geena went on. “I know you already heard it happened, but Lucy actually witnessed what happened at the Noltes’ last night.”
I grabbed a paper bag from beneath the pastry case and deposited two more crescent rolls inside for her. “Oh, yeah?”
Geena cupped her latte and leaned forward, lowering her voice even though we were the only two in the shop. “Crissy Nolte has a boyfriend. Her and Cole had a huge fight that half the neighborhood heard! That boyfriend showed up in a damn fire engine red Porsche, tires squealing like some kind of movie, and Crissy come runnin’ out the house screaming profanities. Cole come followin’ her, throwing her clothes in the yard, and he barreled on past her. ’Bout the time the boyfriend stepped out the car, Cole knocked him flat! Punched him so hard his nose was bleeding!”
“Oh my stars,” I breathed, stunned that Cole had done such a thing.
Geena nodded. “Right? Cole’s such a sweetie. But Crissy and the boyfriend got in that Porsche, and they screeched out of there, leaving Cole in the street with his fists clenched like he wants to pummel ’em both.”
*
Geena’s daughter, Lucy, ran The Witch’s Brew in the evenings, Monday through Friday. That evening, she showed up ten minutes early for her shift and asked for three shots, as if I were her bartender.
I acknowledged the dark circles under her eyes and reached for an espresso mug. “Late night?”
“Bertie Mae called in sick this morning, so I had to stay and cover until Rico came in at ten. None of them other girls can cook like Bertie or Rico. Hell, I can’t either, but I’m the closest they got. I’ve had, like, four hours of sleep, and I haven’t seen Lolly in two days,” she finished sadly.
“Your mama came in this morning and said she and Lolly put up the tree last night.”
“Oh, did they? I didn’t even pay attention when I dragged my butt in this morning.” Lucy shook her head, her stunning black waves dancing around her shoulders. She wore it long, damn near to her bottom.
“Geena also called you good-for-nothing and said Jamie wasn’t good enough for you.”
Lucy giggled. “No boy is ever good enough for me, Die. You know that.”
“I also know she doesn’t actually think you’re good for nothing. She just worries.” I set three piping hot shots of espresso before her in a snowflake-covered mug. “Drink up. It should be a slow night. They’re calling for snow.”
“It’s about time. We haven’t had a white December around here in years.” Lucy dumped half a pound of sugar in her espresso, her crystal blue eyes on me. “You heard about Cole?”
“Why does everyone in town think I need to know Cole’s separated from his wife?” I hit the button to rinse the Marzocco.
“Because everyone in town knows you’ve been in love with him since before you were born.”
“Now you’re just exaggerating.”
Lucy held up a palm. “Scout’s honor. Mama Pettigrew says it began in the womb.”
“Mama Pettigrew needs to mind her own business. Cole didn’t even move here till high school.” My mama made it her life’s goal to stick her nose in every aspect of my life. It was a wonder I even had a life. “Are you going to be okay? If you’re too tired, I can close up early.”
“No. I need the money for that cottage. I’m so close to a down payment.”
Lucy and Lolly had moved in with her mother after her divorce a year ago. The separation had been amicable — her ex-husband received a job offer overseas, and Lucy wasn’t interested in moving to a foreign country or having Lolly grow up anywhere but Tates Creek. They’d sold the house, and after four months living with her mother, Lucy picked up a job with me for extra income. She was ready to get out from under Geena’s thumb. Probably a good idea, seeing as how she and Jamie were getting hot and heavy, last I heard.
“All right. Well, if you need anything, just call me.” I untied my apron and hung it on a wooden wall peg next to all the others emblazoned with The Witch’s Brew logo. I shrugged on my wool pea coat and buttoned up tight against the winter air, then waved as I left.
In Tates Creek, Kentucky, five p.m. a week before the Winter Solstice meant dark as night. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and picked up my pace, passing the lighted windows of the other shops on Central Avenue. To my right, the lake rippled beneath the gusty wind, mercury gray and empty of tourists this time of year. One end of Central looped around Town Circle, where the courthouse, the police department, the library, and the community center sat. The other dead-ended at the Tates Creek Forest Preserve, where a path wound through beautiful woods all the way to my mama’s house.
Most nights, I could make the trek by the light of the moon. But tonight, clouds built heavily above, bringing the promised snow, so I used the flashlight on my smartphone to light my way.
I shivered, wishing I had gloves for my exposed fingers. Or that I owned a car like a normal person. We Pettigrew women weren’t predisposed to modern living. Sometimes, I thought we were more suited for life two hundred years ago.
I was lost in thoughts of my fireplace and cuddling with my cat Skadi, when my flashlight bounced over a pair of legs laying across the dirt path.
I froze, gently lowering the light. Two black dress shoes lay pointed upright, and dark trousers disappeared into the undergrowth.
“Hello?” I called, my voice shaky. Tates Creek didn’t have much problem with crime, but we were off a major interstate and considered one of the most picturesque towns in Kentucky, so tourists came through all the time.
No answer.
I took two steps forward and called again: “Hello!”
Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I skirted the exposed feet and lifted my flashlight into the undergrowth.
An unfamiliar face stared back at me with glassy, lifeless eyes, a swollen broken nose, and a gaping bullet wound in the middle of his forehead.
Chapter Two
I choked on my scream for a moment, but then called the emergency line like I was a fully functioning adult. Lucky for me, my sister answered the line.
“Daiya, what’s wrong?” she said, a tad hysterically. The women in my family sensed things about one another. Devin knew it was me before she answered the phone, and she knew I was freaking out.
“I found a dead body. On the path through the Preserve.”
“Oh my stars. Are you okay? Are you sure the person is dead?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely dead. Bullet-through-the-brain dead.”
“Holy Freya. Okay, hang tight, let me call Cole.”
I listened to the comforting drone of her voice on the radio and resolutely ignored the body. I’d never in my life seen a murdered body. I couldn’t get the image of the hole in his head out of my mind, or the blood that had dried in rivulets on his face. At least he was a stranger. If it had been someone I’d known … I couldn’t even imagine.
“Die, he
’s on his way. Are you safe? Is there anyone else around you?”
I jerked. “Oh, gods, I didn’t even think of that. Do you think the killer could still be here?” Now my voice was hysterical.
“Shh, calm down. I’m sorry, I’m just checking. If you haven’t seen anybody, you’re fine. Hang tight. Cole’s close by.”
The two minutes I waited for Cole were the two longest of my life. Every rustle and crack in the forest put me on edge. I hugged my coat tighter, warming my fingertips in my armpits as I hid in the trees across from the body.
I heard running footsteps, and then, “Daiya? Where are you?”
His thick Southern drawl set my heart a’racing. I left the shelter of the tree line and waved both hands above my head as Cole’s flashlight bounced over my face. “Here.”
Cole slowed in front of me, the beam from his flashlight settling on the trail beneath my feet. I could barely see him in the ambient glow — his strong jaw, a nose broken one-too-many times in high school football, and his dark hair shorn into a cap of black on his head, just the hint of a cowlick above his forehead. Those uniform blues sure fit him nice, too.
Cole’s mahogany gaze danced over me as if checking for injuries. He holstered his gun. “Are you all right? Devin made it sound like you were hurt.”
“She’s my sister. She worries.” I shrugged. “I’m okay, except, you know. Dead body.” I pointed at the brush beside us.
Cole turned his flashlight on the up-turned loafers, and I turned my back on him. I wasn’t in the mood for another up-close-and-personal look at violent death.
Seconds later, Cole swore loudly and creatively. His radio beeped as he keyed up and said, “Dispatch, get me another car and call to Bowling Green for the CST unit. 10-80.”
Cole rubbed his brow as he drew up next to me. Devin’s voice answered affirmatively through his speaker.
I pulled my coat tighter. “What’s a 10-80?”
“Dead body.”