Thorn to Die

“Don’t Hazy me, Ian Larson. Only people that know me get to speak to me in that tone of voice.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “How do you know all the right buttons to push to get under my skin? I swear, no one else in Uriville is as difficult as you are, Hazel Brunick. Can you just calm down and answer my questions? I promise, this isn’t as hard as you’re making it out to be.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He was probably right, I was being difficult for no reason. Grammy Jo’s potion hadn’t killed Allen White. There was no reason to be afraid. Ian and I had grown up together. He wasn’t going to bulldoze over my family. I could be reasonable.

Releasing the calming breath, I sat stiff-backed in the chair opposite him and placed Kat on my lap. The little pink ball turned over to his belly and squirmed, waiting for a scratch. I obliged, never taking my eyes off of Ian’s blue ones. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

He smiled, the left side of his mouth curling a little more than the other. “Thank you. Now, can you tell me what Allen was talking about during his visit yesterday morning? Did he mention having a problem with anyone?”

I squinted my eyes, trying to recall our conversation. “I think he mentioned Angie Pine, the florist. But I don’t really remember. He was too busy insulting my career path to mention anyone trying to murder him.”

His mouth pulled into a frown. “What kind of tea did you serve him?”

“Green. It was just green tea. Grammy Jo likes the antioxidants. That’s what she recommends.”

“Was Grammy Jo here?”

I shook my head, momentarily confused. “No, why would you ask that?”

“You said Grammy Jo likes the antioxidants of green tea. Why would she care what Allen White liked to drink?”

The inside of my cheek began to burn, and I realized I’d been chewing on it. “She wouldn’t. I mean, she liked to give health advice, that’s it. Allen had arthritis.”

“What kind of health advice?” Ian leaned forward in his chair. “Like, what kind of meds to take?”

“No…” I could feel the conversation getting away from me, but I was powerless to stop it. “Just herbs and stuff. Natural health advice. Stuff to take to make the pain go away.”

“And did she give you something to put in Allen White’s tea?”

I shrugged and could feel my ears turning red. “I don’t really know…”

“Hazy, just tell me the truth. Did you put something in Allen’s drink?”

My nose began to itch with an incredible ferocity. I scratched it with my hand, abandoning Kat’s stomach. “It was just a little herbal tonic. Nothing bad, I swear. He drank it all the time. Grammy Jo makes it for a bunch of the elderly people in town.”

He sat back in his chair, a frown tugging at his well-formed mouth. I didn’t know how it happened, but I had the bad feeling I’d just let my family down in a huge way. My intestines were twisted in all sorts of violent positions, like there was a freight train rolling through my digestive system.

“Grammy Jo’s a suspect now, isn’t she?” I asked.

Ian nodded slowly, as if afraid I’d freak out on him again. “It’s an awfully big coincidence. Allen White drinks some of your Grammy’s tonic and then suddenly dies? I’m afraid it doesn’t sound good.” He got up and walked toward the doorway, his heavy-duty police issued boots loud on the wooden floor. When he got to the exit, he turned to say something, but paused when he saw the look on my face and decided against it.

At that moment, I didn’t care about Ian and his interrogation. The only thing I could think of was how a murder investigation was going to affect Momma Tula. If Grammy Jo got taken away, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. I wasn’t sure any of us would be able to handle it.

Chapter 8

I might’ve been asking for another hour-long lecture from Butch on the company policy to-serve-the-client-with-the-very-best-of-our-abilities, but I closed up shop and practically sprinted down Main Street toward Raven’s hardware store. The sign above her door told me in bright neon letters that she was already open. I burst through the door and headed for the registers

, ignoring the shocked expression of two little old ladies browsing through the curtain rods at the front of the store.

“Raven!” my voice squeaked. “We’ve got to talk.”

She waved at me from the other side of the store, a coffee pot in one hand and a decomposable foam cup in the other. Blythe sat perched on a metal stool next to her, coffee already in hand. I nearly tripped over a sale display of rakes and into a pyramid of paint cans, before righting myself and recapturing my dignity.

Kat stumbled in behind, running straight past me and right toward Raven. The little traitor. Blythe reached down to pat his head, but he squealed and ran away, burying himself in Raven’s waiting arms.

“Come on, piggy,” Blythe whined. “Why can’t I pet you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Animals just don’t like you.” Raven stroked Kat’s fuzzy head and he practically purred. “It’s not your fault, but you’re not going to win them over. Sorry cous’.”