Dizzy Spells (6 page)

Silence hung in the air between us, making
me more and more tense. I was the one to break the silence. “I
don’t understand why you’re asking me questions when you know I had
nothing to do with it.”

Alder straightened up. “I’m just trying to
get a feel for this whole situation. A man is dead—his body shows
up on your doorstep. Previously a man dropped dead in your bakery.
You have to admit that it sounds rather weird.”

“I suppose it does.”

“And we both know you don’t do the baking
here. When exactly does your employee come in?”

Again, I tried not to show surprise on my
face. Again, I failed.

“Sources,” Alder said simply. He still
seemed to be amused. “My client thinks you have something to do
with all the things going on here lately. You show up in town; a
man dies in your shop; you get your friends together and you all
play Scooby Doo or something like that, but it works out okay. Now
another man has died, this time at your house, and you’re going to
get the crew back together and solve another mystery. Is that it?
My client wonders if there’s more to it than that. I shouldn’t tell
you all that, but to be honest, I like you.” He grimaced when he
said that, as if liking me was distasteful to him.

I frowned.

“You seem like a nice, normal person,” he
continued, “and so do your friends. Well, nice if not normal, in
their case.” He chuckled to himself. “It really does seem as if
you’re getting caught up in a bad case of wrong time, wrong place.
Yet in my experience, that’s not real. If someone’s in the wrong
place, it’s because they put themselves there.”

“I assure you, it’s nothing but wrong time,
wrong place with me. I didn’t want a man to die in my cake shop or
outside my house. Anyway, who is your client?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“So someone can pay you to follow me around,
to figure out everything about me, to snoop into my private life,
and you won’t even tell me who it is?”

Alder nodded. “Yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Alder said smugly.

“Spare me the philosophical musings,” I
said. “It annoys people. Remember that Socrates was put to death
for annoying people.”

Alder sighed.

I went on. “Well, do you believe I had
nothing to do with Thomas Hale’s death?”

Alder tapped his finger on the counter for a
while before looking up at me. “I can tell a lot about someone just
by watching them. I can tell when they’re lying or nervous, for
example.”

“Oh yes?” I said, interested in spite of
myself. “I used to watch that show on TV. I can’t remember what
it’s called. Anyway, there was a man who helped the police, and he
could tell if someone was lying. He looked for facial ticks,
sweating, stuff like that. Apparently when people lie, they look to
the left, but look to the right if they’re trying to remember
something. Or is it the other way around?”

“It depends whether they’re right or left
handed,” Alder said, “but that theory’s been discounted by
scientists.”

“But you can tell if someone’s lying?”

Alder smiled at me, and when he spoke, his
voice for once dripped with charm. “It’s a sixth sense I have.”

I stared at him to see if he was joking, but
his expression did not change. If only I could have such a sixth
sense. “Oh,” was I could say.

“I know you had nothing to do with the
realtor’s death,” he continued, “and that’s what I’m going to tell
my client. I’m not so sure they’ll agree, so I’m also not so sure
you won’t be seeing more of me.”

I nodded. I was secretly pleased to be
seeing more of him, because I felt a magnetic attraction to him,
albeit regretfully. He was the cliché tall, dark and handsome, to
be sure, but there was something more. He had an almost
otherworldly presence. I looked up to see him watching me, and I
fervently hoped that mindreading wasn’t another of his arcane
talents.

“But, like I said, I think it’s a waste of
time. To tell you the truth, I’ve made a lot of money wasting my
time on things that never pan out, and if this is another case of
that, then so be it.”

I nodded, because I had no idea how to
respond to that. It sounded as if Alder was letting me know he
wasn’t going to be a problem for me, but that he would be around,
watching. I figured I could live with that.

Alder opened his mouth to speak, but he was
forestalled by Thyme’s entrance. “Thyme,” he said stiffly.

She nodded to him. “Alder.” Her voice was
filled with tension.

Alder left the shop in a hurry, leaving
Thyme wringing her hands.

“Are you feeling any better today?” I asked
her, wondering if now was the right time to question her over the
mysterious Alder Vervain.

“Back to normal, pretty much,” she said, but
she didn’t look normal. She looked shaken. “What did he want?”

I answered her question with a question.
“Did you know that he’s a private detective?”

Thyme nodded, and walked into the kitchen.
“Of course. Small town—everyone knows everyone else’s business. Is
he investigating you? Or what? He wasn’t buying cupcakes.”

“Yes, he
is
investigating me!” I
exclaimed. “Someone’s paid him to, because they think I had
something to do with the murder of Thomas Hale.”

Thyme turned after setting some mixing bowls
on the counter. “He didn’t tell you who his employer was by any
chance, did he?”

I pulled a face. “No. He asked me some
questions.”

Thyme put down the flour and looked at me.
“Does he think you had something to do with it?” She seemed
concerned, but I had no idea why.

“He said he believes me.”

Thyme seemed to be thinking that over.

I pressed on. “He said he knows when someone
is lying to him. He has a sixth sense about it.”

Thyme snorted rudely.

“He knew that I couldn’t bake.”

“The whole town knows you can’t bake!” Thyme
exclaimed.

I chuckled. “Too true. I suppose it does
look fishy that a man died in my store and then at my house, but I
don’t know why anyone would be so convinced that I had something to
do with it. Anyway, why do you have a problem with Alder
Vervain?”

Thyme shot me a look. “Who says I have a
problem with…”

I cut her off, holding up my hand. “Come on.
I overheard you guys talking about him once, and you acted weird
around him.”

Thyme chewed her lip. “Well, I suppose
you’ll have to know sooner or later.”

I was growing impatient. “Know what?”

Thyme rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.
“Do you know anything about witchcraft laws in Australia?”

“No, how would I? I didn’t know anything
about witches until I moved to Bayberry Creek.”

Thyme waved one hand at me. “Oh, yes, sorry.
Well, no one was ever put to death in Australia, or anything like
that. No one has ever been successfully prosecuted for witchcraft
in Australia, but a woman was charged with fortune telling in South
Australia about sixty years ago. And a law against practicing
witchcraft was repealed in the state of Victoria only as recently
as 2005, as ridiculous as that sounds. Alder Vervain’s family…” She
hesitated.

I was frustrated. How bad could it be? “Just
spit it out, Thyme.”

She nodded. “His family is from a long line
of witch hunters.”

“What?” I shrieked. “Witch hunters, like in
the movies?” Images of Alder with a crossbow and vials of holy
water flashed through my mind. He certainly looked the part.

“No. That was too strong a term, I suppose.
Alder’s family has always opposed the repeal of witchcraft laws in
Australia.”

I scratched my head. “I still can’t see the
problem. What am I missing?”

“Alder’s family are firmly on a witch hunt,
metaphorically and figuratively speaking,” Thyme said angrily.
“Obviously, they can’t have anyone charged with witchcraft in this
day and age, so they look for anything they can. They used to
complain to the local council authorities about Ruprecht’s shop.”
She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’ve been speaking in the
present tense, but Alder’s parents died some time back. They did
all sorts of horrible things to Camino, Ruprecht, and my parents,
too, years ago. It’s left to Alder now.”

“What’s left to him? What are you saying?
What horrible things did they do?”

Thyme folded her arms across her chest. “You
name it; they did it. They spread rumors, constantly complained to
authorities. They even rang the cops with anonymous tips that
Ruprecht and Camino were drug dealers. The tax office audited
Ruprecht, Camino, and my parents time and time again. Alder’s
parents really persecuted them.”

“But surely none of this happened recently?”
I asked her.

Thyme shook her head. “No, but Alder’s only
just come back to town. He’s been watching you, so it seems that
he’s going to start up again on all of us, taking up where his
parents left off. And this time, you’re in his sights, too.”

Chapter 10

Thyme and I were in my car. We had closed for
the day, and Thyme wanted to turn the tables on Alder by following
him. “The best defense is offense,” she had said.

I still found it hard to believe that Alder
had malicious intent toward me, but then, I was naïve when it came
to seeing through people. “He said he believed me,” I said once
again. “He said he had a sixth sense and could tell when someone
was lying. He did seem to believe me. He said he was going to
suggest to his employer that they leave me alone.”

Thyme slammed on an imaginary brake with her
foot when a car pulled out in front of me. Talk about a back seat
driver! I wasn’t going to comment though, given her current mood.
“Amelia, we’ve already been through this. I don’t think there is an
employer, and I like told you over and over again, I don’t trust
him.”

I was in two minds about the whole
situation. “Well, he did say that he doubted his employer would
listen to him.”

“See what I mean! That’s just a cover, as
there is no employer. I bet he made that up!” Thyme shot me a look.
“Amelia, I’m really worried about this. He’s a private detective
now—just be thankful he isn’t a cop—and he’s snooping. He has his
sights set on you. He’s going to cause trouble for you. Please tell
me that you’ll burn protection incense when you’re home.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m already in the habit of
that now. I always burn Fiery Wall of Protection incense: Dragon’s
Blood, frankincense and myrrh.”

“Good. And you filled those witch bottles
like I told you and…”

I interrupted her. “Yes, and I buried them
in the front yard.”

“Also good. Did you make that protection
poppet, the juju doll-baby?”

I slunk down in my seat. “Err, no, sorry. My
sewing is almost as bad as my baking.”

Thyme snorted with disgust. “It doesn’t have
to be a work of art! Just sew some fabric into the vague shape of a
person, and stuff it with protection herbs from your garden. You
have plenty to choose from. You have those big tubs of rue, and
then you have plenty of chamomile, lemongrass, and agrimony
growing. You could use rosemary or hawthorn for its hair. And
there’s wormwood. See!” She tapped her rearview mirror, where
wormwood was hanging in a little bag. “We’ve already been through
this. Protection is the most important thing for witches.
Protection first, before everything.”

“Sorry.” I was truly remorseful. I’d been
slack and really would need to up the protection. “Anyway, why are
we following Alder if you think he’s not being paid to follow
me?”

Thyme sighed. I could tell I was really
trying her patience. This whole thing with Alder sure was making
her uptight. “While I do think it’s highly unlikely that someone
actually paid him to investigate you, if such a person does exist,
then we need to find out who they are.”

I pointed to the small container Thyme had
been holding. “Hence your whosie-whatsit.”

“Great technical term,” she said dryly.
“It’s actually scrying water, which you would know if you’d been
paying attention. It’s rainwater collected under the last full
moon, and when it’s in this black bowl, I can see images. That is,
if I have the chance to concentrate,” she added pointedly.

“Understood. I’ll be quiet now.”

“I can’t believe that’s working,” was the
next thing I said, ten or so minutes later.

Thyme laughed. “After all you’ve seen since
you arrived at Bayberry Creek, you’re really surprised? Turn right
at the stop sign.”

I shook my head. “I guess not.”

“Okay, I think it’s that motel there.”

I parked out on the road, under a spreading
lemon magnolia tree. “Look at those pretty yellow flowers,” I
said.

“Focus, Amelia, focus. He’s here somewhere,”
Thyme said. “I think it’s one of the last rooms.”

I was nervous. “I don’t want him to see us,
and if he really has a sixth sense, or is psychic or whatever,
he’ll know we’re here.”

“Well, I don’t want to be caught snooping
around, either,” Thyme said. “The last person I need to make mad is
some crazy witch hunter. Still, we have to find out if there’s any
truth to his claim that someone hired him, and this is probably the
only way we’ll find out.”

Thyme sat in silence for a moment, staring
at her scrying water, while I fidgeted in my seat. Finally, she
spoke. “Yes, he’s in the very end room, and I’m pretty sure there’s
a man in there, too.”

“Can you tell if he’s the one who hired him
to follow me?” I asked.

Thyme shook her head. “I have no idea. I
assume he’d have several clients. Anyway, I’ll find out who the man
is.”

“You can do that?” I asked, impressed.

She chuckled. “Not with my scrying water.
I’ll ask Gloria, you know, the waitress at the north café.”

“How would she know?”

“Well, her uncle runs the motel, and
Gloria’s cousin, Stephanie, is the receptionist there.”