Witch School Dropout: A Witch Squad Cozy Mystery #7 Page 16

  Sweets nodded slowly.

  “Yeah, you can’t let Louis keep pushing you around. He’s been doing it since the first day you got the internship at the bakery. Now, look where you’re at, Sweets. You’re at a police station. You just got interrogated. He framed you for murder. Are you starting to get it? You need to stand up for yourself. You need to have a voice and be strong. You can’t just let the pieces fall where they may! You have a lot of decisions to make about your life; but Sweets, it’s your life! Do you want to drop out of school or not? Do you want to allow Louis to lambaste your character or do you want to prove to Detective Whitman that it wasn’t you?”

  The door burst open. Detective Whitman walked in followed by Louis Albertson. The lanky man’s gaunt face went even more ashen than usual when he saw all of us sitting in the room and looking up at him. “What’s this about?” he demanded to Detective Whitman. “What are they doing here?”

  “Sit down, Mr. Albertson,” said Detective Whitman pointing to the empty chair at the head of the table. “We need to hash out a few things.” When he willfully continued to stand, Detective Whitman pressed on Louis’ shoulder, forcing him to sit down at the conference table. Detective Whitman gestured towards Holly. “This is Holly Rockwell. She is a witch from the Institute. Ms. Rockwell is a clairvoyant, and I’ve consulted with her to do an informal reading on the vial of poison that was found in Miss Porter’s apron. Ms. Rockwell, would you kindly tell Mr. Albertson about your vision?”

  Holly gulped hard. “Yeah, I, uh,” she mumbled. “I saw you taking a vial out of your apron, and I saw you look at it and then put it in Sweets’ apron. They were right next to each other on a hook next to the walk-in freezer at the bakery.”

  Louis glared menacingly at Holly.

  Detective Whitman watched his reaction closely. “Do you have anything to say about this Mr. Albertson?”

  Louis’s spine was rigid against his seat back. His dark eyes shot poisoned daggers at Holly. “Obviously she’s covering for her friend. I did no such thing,” he sneered.

  Alba sucked in her breath. “He’s lying!” Her head swiveled towards Detective Whitman while pointing her finger at Louis. “I’ve been studying mind reading. I read his mind just now. He’s lying!”

  Louis’s mouth smacked open, and he rolled his eyes as he looked at Detective Whitman. “Oh, please. Obviously, they’re both trying to protect their friend. This is ridiculous. You have no proof that I did anything. These girls are all a bunch of fakes. They’ll lie and say whatever they have to to keep the real murderer from getting caught.”

  Sweets suddenly sucked in a big breath as if she’d just awakened from a coma. “Louis Albertson!” she gasped. “I’ve sat idly by and let you attack my character on numerous occasions. I’ve let you push me around and pull pranks on me, some harmless and some not. You ruined Char and Mr. Bailey’s wedding cake and forced me to make a new one at the last moment. You’ve harassed me since the first day I started at the bakery. You’ve made me do all the work and taken all the credit for everything while the Bailey’s were on their honeymoon. But I am not about to sit idly by and let you attack the character of my friends! I’ve had it! Detective Whitman. Louis Albertson is a bad, bad man. I’ve kept quiet because I didn’t want to accuse anyone of anything that I didn’t know for sure that they did. But I trust Holly, and I trust Alba. They are very skilled witches. Their powers have grown by the day. If they say that you set me up for murder, then I believe them! And I will not let you frame me for Mr. Bailey’s murder. I will find the truth. Whatever it is.” By the time her little speech was over, Sweets was on her feet, her face was flushed pink, and she was staring down the table defiantly at Louis.

  My mouth hung open. Where had that sudden burst of balls come from? Go Sweets! I cheered in my mind.

  Louis looked down at the table uncomfortably, unable to continue making eye contact with Sweets any longer. He knew he was busted, but we all knew he would never admit it. No. That would be our job. To prove his guilt.

  Sweets left the police station that day with a new lease on life. Something had snapped inside of her, and she walked away bound and determined to prove her innocence and in all likelihood, Louis’ guilt.

  The sun was directly in our eyes as the door of the police station slammed behind us. “Where do we start?” Sweets asked, looking down the sidewalk in two directions.

  Alba looked around too. “I think we need to interview everyone on that guest list,” she said. “Someone had to have seen something or know something.”

  “I think we need Mr. Bailey for this,” said Sweets with a nod. “He’ll know what questions to ask everyone. He might be able to sniff out a lie,” she said with a half-giggle. “Get it? He’s a dog. He’ll sniff out the …”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on Sweets. We need to work on your jokes! Let’s go get Mr. Bailey from the b&b.”

  21

  Mr. Bailey’s short legs had to work double time to keep up with us as we walked from Habernackle’s back to the bakery. Formulating our plan of action as we walked, I glanced down at the Chihuahua who had his eyes trained carefully on the pavement in front of him.

  “So, what’s the plan?” asked Jax, bouncing around on her toes next to us as we walked. She was unabashedly excited about getting to do some sleuthing once again.

  “The plan is, we start going door to door with the guest list,” I said, looking down at the clipboard that held the long list of names that had been at the Bailey’s welcome home party. “Most of these people work or own businesses downtown. I think we just start talking to them, one by one. See what they saw. Find out what they heard, ya know.”

  Walking beside me, Holly glanced over at the list. “Yeah, but that’s a long list. Where do we start?”

  I shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Sweets looked down at Mr. Bailey who had been ignoring our discussion. His paws made a rhythmic clicking sound as we walked. “Do you have any suggestions on who we should start with first, Mr. Bailey?”

  His little feet stopped pedaling, and he looked up at us as if he couldn’t walk and talk at the same time anymore. As a dog, there were just too many moving parts now. “No, I wish I did,” he said sadly.

  “Alright then,” said Alba, snatching the clipboard from my hands. “We start with Mrs. Baylor.”

  Mr. Bailey’s batlike pink ears spread out wide on either side of his head. “The gift shop owner? She’s the sweetest woman in the world. She’d never want me dead!”

  “But she’s at the top of the list,” said Alba.

  “And just because we’re going to talk to her doesn’t mean we think she did it,” I explained, feeling somewhat silly to be talking to a dog in the middle of the sidewalk. I glanced around uneasily. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? Someone might hear you talking.”

  “Okay,” he said and stood up and started walking. Without thinking about it, he was on two feet though.

  We all watched him go until the leash Sweets held in her hand was tight against his collar. He stopped and looked back at us. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Mr. Bailey, you’re walking on two feet,” said Sweets with a smile.

  His little black eyes bulged as he looked down at the ground. “Oh, oops. Habit, I suppose.” He lowered his two front paws to the ground and restarted his engines. “This is just twice as hard,” he grumbled as he walked on all fours.

  We walked the three blocks down to the gift shop until we got to a blue awning. Beneath it, the late day sun reflected off of the storefront window, making it hard to see the pastel-colored pennant banner and white Christmas lights draped above a window display of powder-pink bunnies and metallic green frogs. Mrs. Baylor stood behind the counter wrapping a silver cake stand in white tissue paper dusted with gold glitter.

  “Well if it isn’t the Witch Squad,” she called out. “What are you girls up to today?”

  “Hi Mrs. Baylor,” said Sweets, tugging gently on Mr. Bailey’s leash
.

  I made it to the front of the store first and leaned an elbow on her chest-high counter. “We just wanted to talk to you about Mr. Bailey’s party the other day.”

  She stopped wrapping and looked up at me sharply. “Isn’t it horrible that Vic had a heart attack? I was shocked when I heard the news.”

  I nodded. Obviously, it hadn’t made it through the grapevine that Mr. Bailey’s death had been officially ruled a homicide, and she thought we were only there to gossip. By the time the Aspen Falls Observer comes out tomorrow morning, she’ll know the truth, I thought. “You haven’t heard,” I said.

  “Heard?”

  “The police now think that Mr. Bailey was murdered.”

  “Murdered?!” her pale green eyes opened wide in shock. “I thought Vic died of a heart attack?”

  “Obviously, that’s not the entire story,” said Alba. “And the girls and I owe it to his widow to find out the truth.”

  “I understand,” she said nodding her head agreeably. “Whatever I can do to help! Vic was such a sweet man. I’m just so sad that he’s gone. I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill him!”

  “Yes, he was,” agreed Sweets tearing up.

  “You can’t think of anyone that would want to hurt him?” asked Alba.

  She shook her head. “Hurt Vic? Oh, heavens no! Not Vic! Everyone loved Vic.”

  “Do you know much about his employee, Louis Albertson?” I asked.

  Mrs. Baylor waggled her head. “Not much. He’s a bachelor. He lives with his mother. She’s kind of an odd bird, as is he,” she added the last part as a whispered aside, like she was telling us something we didn’t already know. She continued wrapping the gift on her counter. “He’s worked for Vic for years and years, you know. He’s not very good with the customers, but for some reason, he and Vic seemed to get along well.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Do you think it was him? I could totally see it being him. He’s so … strange.”

  “Being strange isn’t a license to kill, though,” said Alba. She was not about to start the rumor mill flying around Aspen Falls, that was not Alba’s m.o., her brain was rooted in facts and logic. “Did you see him doing anything suspicious at the party?”

  “No. I didn’t.” The middle-aged woman shook her head, but gave a little sigh at the end, as if she were disappointed she hadn’t seen Louis doing something nefarious.

  “Mrs. Baylor, after you and Mrs. Westminster poured the champagne into the glasses, did either of you leave the champagne unattended? Even just for a moment?” asked Sweets.

  Mrs. Baylor frowned as she thought about it. “No. Not that I recall. But there was a lot of commotion back in that kitchen. All of those bodies crammed back there hiding, you know. It’s very possible that someone was able to get to the champagne. Why?” her eyes widened. “Was it poisoned?”

  The girls and I exchanged curious glances. Was she just a good guesser or did she know more than she was letting on?

  “We can’t comment on that,” said Alba over her shoulder while trailing a finger along the edge of a particularly festive piece of glazed ceramic bakeware.

  “Oh,” she said, heavy disappointment spilled out of that single syllable.

  “So there was no one else at the party that Mr. Bailey didn’t get along with?” I persisted.

  “No. Not that I can – oh, well, now wait. There was Mr. Turner, the owner of the Rise and Shine Bakery. He and Vic haven’t always gotten along.”

  I looked down at Mr. Bailey, who sat on the floor with his ears at a jaunty angle on either side of his head. He looked up at me too, but hidden behind Regis’ mask, I couldn’t read his expression.

  “Why didn’t the men get along?” asked Holly.

  “Competing businesses,” she said with a casual shrug. “Mr. Turner didn’t like the fact that there were two bakeries in Aspen Falls. He thought Aspen Falls was too small of a town to support both businesses. Of course, Vic never saw that as a problem. His bakery catered to the sick as he made potions to heal people, and Mr. Turner’s bakery was just a regular bakery.”

  “Whose bakery did better? Financially speaking?” asked Alba.

  “Oh, Vic’s, I’m sure. Mr. Turner had less business because he didn’t do the magic herbal stuff. Everyone who’s ever had bursitis, halitosis, or even athlete’s foot has gone to see Vic. He could cure just about anything that ails you with a loaf of bread or a cupcake. What he couldn’t cure, he could ease the symptoms of. Vic was responsible for most of the wide waistlines in town, too,” she said, patting her own middle with a smile. Then she lifted her eyebrows. “You know girls; it’s really sweet of you to be doing this. I’ll help in any way I can. I know Vic’s widow will appreciate everything you’re doing. Who else have you been to see?”

  “You’re the first on the list,” said Jax without hesitation.

  “The first on your list?!” gasped Mrs. Baylor as if we’d just named her as the killer.

  Jax smiled. “The first person on the guest list,” she said and pointed at the clipboard. “Not our main suspect.”

  The woman covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, thank goodness! Well, you need to make sure and visit Mr. Turner. He and that Louis fellow would be at the top of my list. And have you been to see Sally Westminster yet? Her and Vic have been friends for years and years. She’s always warned Vic to keep an eye on Mr. Turner. She’ll tell ya.”

  Alba looked down at the list. “Sally’s next on our list. But we’ll make sure to see Mr. Turner, too. Thank you for the information. We aren’t going to stop until we get to the bottom of all of this.”

  After saying our goodbyes, we left the gift shop and the minute we got to the street we all looked down at Mr. Bailey. He looked up at us curiously as we walked along. “What?” he asked.

  “Why didn’t you mention that this Mr. Turner could be a suspect?” demanded Alba.

  Mr. Bailey looked down and started walking with us. “I didn’t think he’d ever try and kill me! Why would I think that? Just because we own competing bakeries, and he’s been trying to put me out of business for years, that doesn’t mean he’d go to such great lengths to … to kill me!” said Mr. Bailey, his voice catching in his throat.

  “No, it doesn’t mean that, but you could have at least mentioned the rivalry,” I said. I was beginning to see why Sweets and Mr. Bailey got along so well. They were cut from the same cloth of naïveté.

  “Well, now we know,” said Alba dryly. “We’ll visit his bakery next, but for now, Sally Westminster is number two on the list. And now, I’m curious to hear exactly what she thinks about Mr. Eli Turner.”

  22

  I tugged on the black metal handle of the Westminster Jewelry shop’s impeccably spot free glass door and held it open for my friends to enter. Inside a young blonde woman was working at the front counter. Her hair and creamy skin color were a near identical match for Sally’s, but she was about twenty years Sally’s junior. “Hi, we’re looking for Sally Westminster,” said Alba, boldly taking the lead.

  The woman behind the counter grimaced. “Mom is in the back. She’s not feeling too well right now,” she said looking glum. “One of her dear friends passed away recently. Coming to work this morning and not passing him on the street just about did her in.”

  I looked down at Mr. Bailey. Sitting on the dark wood floor, he hung his head sorrowfully.

  Alba nodded. “We’re actually friends of Mr. Bailey’s. We’re here to talk to your mother about his passing. Is there any way we might be able to speak to her for a few minutes?”

  The woman stood up and extended her well-manicured and bejeweled hand to the opening between glass cases. “Yes, I’m sure she’d be happy to speak to you. Right this way, she’s in her office.”

  She led us through a dim, carpeted hallway to a dark cherry door. Sally’s daughter tapped on the door with the back of her hand. “Mom? There are some girls here to talk to you,” she spoke softly through the thick wood. When the woman didn’t answe
r, she opened the door and peeked inside. “They want to talk to you about Vic? Do you have a minute?”

  “About Vic?” asked a shaky voice between sniffles on the other side of the door. “Yes, of course, send them in.”

  Sally Westminster’s younger edition pushed the door open further and stepped aside to allow us entry. “Go on in,” she said gently.

  Jax led us in, and I brought up the rear with Mr. Bailey trailing at my feet.

  “Hello, Mrs. Westminster,” said Holly extending a hand to the older woman.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the fluorescent lighting in her office or the fact that she was mourning the loss of Mr. Bailey, but the crow’s feet around her eyes and the laugh lines around her mouth appeared magnified, making her look even older than she had at the party a few days prior. “Please, call me Sally,” she requested politely. “Have a seat ladies.”

  Jax and Holly sat in the two chairs closest to her desk while Alba, Sweets, and I stood behind them. The navy and white wallpapered walls of her office were covered with pictures of what I had to assume were family and friends.

  I pointed to a large oil painting of an elegantly dressed group of people on the sprawling green grass beneath a large red oak tree. “Is this your family?” I asked. I thought I noticed the woman working the front counter in the painting, but she was considerably younger. Maybe a teenager. Sally’s face looked younger too.

  She nodded as she used a tissue to dab the corners of her crinkled eyes. “That was done over a decade and a half ago, the year before my Milton passed. Those are my girls. You met Suzanne out front, and the other one is Kathleen. She lives in Denver.”

  I nodded. “It’s a beautiful painting.”

  “Thank you,” she said. The tremble in her voice hinted at the weak state she was in. “What can I do for you girls?”

  “We were hoping to talk to you about Mr. Bailey,” said Alba, happy to get right to the point.