herbs. You’re not near ready to try anything you find in her Book of Shadows .”
“But you can. Or maybe together, we could—”
“I don’t know enough, either.”
“We were able to slice the legs out from under Kevin,” I insisted.
“Your ex is a fool. It didn’t take more than a nudge to push him over the edge.”
“But, I’ve got to do something. Roger’s about to walk into a field of quicksand.” If I sounded as though I were begging, it’s because I was.
After another moment of silence, Rebecca said, “You’re really into this guy.”
I twirled a lock of red hair around my finger. “Well, maybe. A little.”
“You poor thing.” She clicked her tongue. “Love is what got your ancestor hanged.”
Love? I thought. Nothing I’d read about the Salem witch hunt said anything to suggest such a predicate. It didn’t matter. At the moment I was too desperate to wonder about my ancestor’s arcane history. “I’ve got to do something,” I repeated.
“The best thing is to stay out of it,” Rebecca advised.
“I can’t.”
She sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
“So?”
“You could try to work on the case with your boyfriend. With you along, he won’t dare kill anybody.”
I unwound my hair from my finger, but a few strands got stuck. “Ouch!” I cried as I yanked my hand loose.
“What did you do now?”
“Nothing. And he’s not my boyfriend!” I don’t know what Rebecca thought, but to my ears I sounded like a petulant child.
“Uh-huh.” She laughed again. “He doesn’t know it yet, is that it? I can give you a simple spell to fix that.”
Outside my kitchen window, a car horn blared. When I looked, I saw I saw a yellow Volkswagen slide into a snow drift to avoid a BMW racing around the curve in the road. Feeling as though I were as much a wreck as what I just witnessed, my worry about Roger turned to annoyance. “This isn’t helping!” I shouted into the phone.
“Okay, how about this: the only way to keep him out of trouble is to solve the crime before he does. Once the killer’s in jail, it’ll be too late for Roger to go after him.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m not a detective. Where do I begin?”
“Why, at the beginning, of course. Every story has a beginning. You’re a writer, you know that.”
“Okay wise guy, where’s the beginning? Go on, tell me that.”
“You’re Sarah Goode’s heir, you’ll figure it out,” Rebecca said then added, “But, Emlyn, while you go about it, don’t mess around with anything you find in her book. At least, not until I see it and we figure out how to keep you from blowing up your entire neighborhood.”
“Thanks a whole bunch,” I said.
“Always happy to help a friend.” She hung up.
I held the phone away and muttered, “Some friend. Go ahead, leave me hanging with no idea of what to do.”
I tried to slam the phone down, missed, picked it up with two hands, and grumbled into the receiver, “Just wait till you need help with something, Rebecca Nurse. ‘Sure’, I’ll say. Then I’ll pack a bag and go away for the weekend. That’s what I’ll do.”
When I tried again to hang up, I smacked my pouting lip with the receiver—but only hard enough to feed my annoyance.
Finally rid of the phone, I dropped onto a stool by the counter.
Elvira poked her head through the kitchen door. As if she were uncertain whether it was safe to come in, she peered around.
I turned on her. “And you, fur ball—you’re no help, either.”
She backed out of the kitchen.
I sat hunched over the counter, flicking the point of the pencil I kept near the notepad I write my shopping lists on.
As if she were in the room, I heard Rebecca say, Don’t sit there sulking. Start at the beginning .
I lifted my head. She’s right, I thought. I’m Sarah Goode’s heir. I can figure this out.
Elvira tiptoed in.
I smiled down at her. “It’s okay, cat. I’m over my snit.”
She sat at my feet, as if waiting for me to
“But you can. Or maybe together, we could—”
“I don’t know enough, either.”
“We were able to slice the legs out from under Kevin,” I insisted.
“Your ex is a fool. It didn’t take more than a nudge to push him over the edge.”
“But, I’ve got to do something. Roger’s about to walk into a field of quicksand.” If I sounded as though I were begging, it’s because I was.
After another moment of silence, Rebecca said, “You’re really into this guy.”
I twirled a lock of red hair around my finger. “Well, maybe. A little.”
“You poor thing.” She clicked her tongue. “Love is what got your ancestor hanged.”
Love? I thought. Nothing I’d read about the Salem witch hunt said anything to suggest such a predicate. It didn’t matter. At the moment I was too desperate to wonder about my ancestor’s arcane history. “I’ve got to do something,” I repeated.
“The best thing is to stay out of it,” Rebecca advised.
“I can’t.”
She sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
“So?”
“You could try to work on the case with your boyfriend. With you along, he won’t dare kill anybody.”
I unwound my hair from my finger, but a few strands got stuck. “Ouch!” I cried as I yanked my hand loose.
“What did you do now?”
“Nothing. And he’s not my boyfriend!” I don’t know what Rebecca thought, but to my ears I sounded like a petulant child.
“Uh-huh.” She laughed again. “He doesn’t know it yet, is that it? I can give you a simple spell to fix that.”
Outside my kitchen window, a car horn blared. When I looked, I saw I saw a yellow Volkswagen slide into a snow drift to avoid a BMW racing around the curve in the road. Feeling as though I were as much a wreck as what I just witnessed, my worry about Roger turned to annoyance. “This isn’t helping!” I shouted into the phone.
“Okay, how about this: the only way to keep him out of trouble is to solve the crime before he does. Once the killer’s in jail, it’ll be too late for Roger to go after him.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m not a detective. Where do I begin?”
“Why, at the beginning, of course. Every story has a beginning. You’re a writer, you know that.”
“Okay wise guy, where’s the beginning? Go on, tell me that.”
“You’re Sarah Goode’s heir, you’ll figure it out,” Rebecca said then added, “But, Emlyn, while you go about it, don’t mess around with anything you find in her book. At least, not until I see it and we figure out how to keep you from blowing up your entire neighborhood.”
“Thanks a whole bunch,” I said.
“Always happy to help a friend.” She hung up.
I held the phone away and muttered, “Some friend. Go ahead, leave me hanging with no idea of what to do.”
I tried to slam the phone down, missed, picked it up with two hands, and grumbled into the receiver, “Just wait till you need help with something, Rebecca Nurse. ‘Sure’, I’ll say. Then I’ll pack a bag and go away for the weekend. That’s what I’ll do.”
When I tried again to hang up, I smacked my pouting lip with the receiver—but only hard enough to feed my annoyance.
Finally rid of the phone, I dropped onto a stool by the counter.
Elvira poked her head through the kitchen door. As if she were uncertain whether it was safe to come in, she peered around.
I turned on her. “And you, fur ball—you’re no help, either.”
She backed out of the kitchen.
I sat hunched over the counter, flicking the point of the pencil I kept near the notepad I write my shopping lists on.
As if she were in the room, I heard Rebecca say, Don’t sit there sulking. Start at the beginning .
I lifted my head. She’s right, I thought. I’m Sarah Goode’s heir. I can figure this out.
Elvira tiptoed in.
I smiled down at her. “It’s okay, cat. I’m over my snit.”
She sat at my feet, as if waiting for me to
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