Chapter 6
Ispent all Sunday tidying, doing accounts, and trying out the best spots for the azure Lalique vase.
Cosmo relaxed on the sofa. “Put it on the fireplace mantel.”
I did. The afternoon sun shone through the window and bathed the vase in a soft glow.
“See? That’s perfect.” He flicked his tail. “And we both know that you were fully aware of it, unless suddenly you’ve lost your gift.”
“I might have tried to distract myself. I’ve been running different scenarios through my head, how to approach Ms. Vine.”
“And?”
“No clue.”
He sighed. “Humans. You either overthink or you don’t think at all.”
“Thanks a bunch.” I paced the room, occasionally pausing to admire my beautiful vase. It sparked an idea. “I could take her flowers, as a thank you, and casually bring up her friendship with Aunt Violet.”
“Good start. Let’s go outside and see what the flowerbeds offer.” He flexed his claws. “I could do with a little tree scratching anyway.”
Dutifully, I followed my familiar downstairs.
It was good to be back, but I also looked forward to spending quality time at Bert’s, restoring the gorgeous pieces Candice was going to ship over.
My garage was too small to hold the job lot, in addition to my own sofa that had to wait until I’d finished the new job.
The delivery arrived on Monday night, while I checked out two books for young Noah, my favorite customer.
For once, only one of them was a fiction book. The other was a book on dog care and training. Noah and his single mother Sarah had recently adopted a beagle mix, whose owner had passed away.
“How is Ollie?” I asked, doing my best not to let me be distracted by Bert’s message.
“He’s so cute. He brings my slippers, and mom’s too.”
“Whether I want them or not,” Sarah said. “He’s decided he’s the man of the house and needs to take care of us.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Brad says he doesn’t need any more Reiki.” Noah beamed. Brad, our local Reiki therapist, had lately begun to offer free sessions for rescue animals from the shelter. Noah was one of his human patients, and Brad liked Sarah too; a lot.
“Would you like to bring Ollie along one day? You could visit me and Cosmo upstairs for tea.”
Cosmo, who guarded our cookie jars, meowed his agreement.
“We’d love to do that,” Sarah said. “Ollie is very well behaved around other animals, and I’m sure he’ll like Willowmere’s unofficial emotional support pet.”
We arranged a date for next week, and they left.
I messaged Ange to let her know that the wheelbarrow and garden tools had been included in Candice’s delivery, filled Cosmo’s bowls, and dashed to my car to pick up my friend. It was too late tonight to start the job properly, but I couldn’t wait to do a quick inspection and map out my next steps.
Bert took us to the part of the red barn that was off-limits for the public.
He unlocked the double doors. “I signed off for the receipt with the provision that you’d do your own appraisal.
” He sucked on one of the lollipops he kept in the pocket of his flannel shirt that strained over his belly.
His attempts to quit smoking had added a few pounds to his already sturdy frame.
I made a mental note to read Aunt Violet’s recipes to see if a tea blend with an added spell could ease him off both nicotine and a growing addiction to lollipops.
The storage room contained plywood partitions, sheet-covered furniture, trolleys, ladders, and best of all, a workspace with benches, lights worthy of an operation theater, and all the tools needed in the trade. I practically drooled.
Ange’s purchases stood neatly aligned in front of the side wall. She’d added a butter churn and a couple of ten-gallon milk cans that dated back to the early 19th century to the lot she’d originally shown me. She admired them. “I’ll scrub and paint them and use them as planters.”
“Including the wheelbarrow?” I asked.
“No, that’s still going to be yours.” She took out her phone and scrolled through. “My stuff’s all present and correct. What about yours?”
“Candice’s, you mean.”
Bert beckoned us over, behind a line-up of wardrobes barely visible underneath dust sheets. The tub chairs and table were already unwrapped. I removed the protective cover from the bathtub, noticing with satisfaction the professional approach the furniture movers had taken.
The chest came last. With Bert’s assistance I unwrapped it.
I needed to do more sports, I decided, when that too was done and I folded the large horse blankets that had been used for the job. I shouldn’t have been this hot and uncomfortable after this little exercise, unless my HRT patch had fallen off again.
“It’s a beauty,” Bert said. “I wouldn’t mind having that in my house.”
I agreed. “Can you help me with the lid? The chest can do with a bit of airing out. Gently, please.”
“Sure thing.” On the count of three we each grasped an end and lifted the heavy wood.
I looked inside and terror rose in me. My HRT patch was working alright. The heat had been a witchfire wave, caused by the presence of evil.
Or, in this case, a dead body.
A man had been dumped inside the chest. The murder weapon still stuck between his ribs.