Thorn to Die

“And Angie Pine was there.” She shook her head. “She was looking at something. A letter. It was really hard to see. But I know, without a doubt, that I saw Allen White’s signature at the bottom. I recognized it from that last summer when he hired me to stage the Battle of the Roses here in town. Remember? His roses won and he rubbed it in everyone’s noses? It was definitely from him.”

Raven leaned in closer, her dark hair falling in front of her face. “Did you see what it was about?”

“No, it was too dark. But I could see Angie’s face. She was angry. More than angry, she was livid. After she read the note, she took a lighter to the edge of it and watched it burn to a crisp. It had to be her.” Blythe fixed her big blue eyes on me. “She has to be the murderer, right? Why else would I have had that vision?”

Raven shrugged at me. It did seem awfully suspicious, but didn’t exactly give us clear motive.

“You only see the future, right?” I asked. It wouldn’t help us if that letter had already been destroyed. Blythe nodded. “Then, that letter is the evidence we need to prove Grammy Jo’s innocence. You heard those old ladies, everyone knows Angie Pine did it. If there’s proof of a motive in there, you can bet the cops will forget about Grammy.”

“Okay, if that’s true, how do we get it?” Raven stood up straight, towering over me. “It’s not like we can just walk up to Angie and ask if she’s got it on her.”

“It’s in a box,” Blythe squeaked. “I remember now, she pulled it out of a little white box. It’s in the basement, wherever that is.”

Thoughts swirled through my head. Angie Pine lived in a new apartment just two blocks from her shop. If I remembered right, the laundry room took up the basement in that building. That meant, that if she was storing it in a basement, it had to be somewhere else.

“It’s in the basement of her floral shop,” Raven said, beating me to it. “It’s got to be. There’s no place like that in the Birchwood Apartments.”

“But there’s no way we’ll be able to get in there.” Blythe stuck out her lower lip. She’d never been the adventurous type. Happier to play with dolls than to climb trees and hunt for treasure when we were kids. “Not with her working upstairs.”

“Then we go after she closes at three,” I said, tapping my ballet flat on the marbled tile floor. “As soon as we can. In your vision, she doesn’t burn it until the moon comes up. If we find it before it gets dark, she won’t have time to burn it.”

“But that’s breaking and entering.” Tears glistened at the corners of Blythe’s eyes. “What if we’re caught? Nobody will hire a Special Event Organizer with a felony.”

Raven and I both groaned.

“Listen, blondie,” Raven said in a flat tone. “You’re the only one who knows exactly what we’re looking for. You have to come with. Buck up and get tough. Do it for Grammy Jo.”

Go, Raven! My dark cousin hardly ever stood up for anything. As an introvert, she tended to let things go. A spark of pride lit inside me from watching her get riled up. That’s what family was for.

“But…” Blythe wiped at her eyes and sniffed.

“Are you a Half-Moon Witch or what?” Raven snapped.

Blythe pulled back as if she’d been slapped. I hadn’t heard one of us use that dare since we were kids. Because of our unique birthmarks, we thought we were some kind of super women. Destined to save the world. We had to live up to the birthright. If any of us tried to chicken out of a dare, all we had to do was invoke the Half-Moon Witch name. The last thing any of us wanted to be was a coward.

“Fine, for Grammy Jo. But we better not get caught, that’s all I’m saying.”

“We won’t,” I promised. “We wait until she closes. Then, we pounce.”

At three o’clock sharp that afternoon, I bounced from my art shop and skillfully dodged my manager’s notice. My cousins met me outside Raven’s shop, the store already closed up tight. Angie Pine’s Floral Arrangements and Gifts sat two doors down, on the other side of Larry’s Antique and Vintage.

Giant arrangements of blue and white hydrangeas, with white roses and baby’s breath sporadically placed in-between, overtook the display window. The shop was dark – Angie had probably closed up a little earlier than usual to escape the whispers of the townspeople. A black and white CLOSED sign hung in the entrance.

We bypassed the front door and took the alleyway around back, Blythe looking over her shoulder every three seconds. A large wooden door with an unloading bay took up the space behind the shop. The upper half of the door had about a dozen small square windows, each made from a different color of glass. Through the lightest colors, I could see floral coolers lining the wall and pruning tools laying on a wooden table.

While Raven and Blythe stood back, watching for witnesses, I crept up and pulled on the handle. Locked, dang it. It was too much to hope that Angie Pine trusted the good people of this small town. Guess we really would be breaking and entering.

“It’s locked? Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe we should come back tomorrow.” Blythe made a motion to march off, but Raven grabbed her by the back of her delicate pink cardigan and held her in place.

“I don’t suppose one of you suddenly developed the magical ability to unlock doors?” I asked, pulling the bottom of my sleeveless blouse up over my elbow. They both shook their heads no. “Then, I guess we have to do this the old fashioned way.” My elbow burst through the bottom right glass pane, shattering it into a million pieces.

All of us froze, listening for movement. But no one came running, looking for trespassers. Satisfied by the relative quiet of the nearby street, I reached my hand through the broken pane and unlocked the bolt. The door swung open and all three of us darted inside, closing it shut behind.

“This way,” I hissed.

The door to the basement was already open. It led to a dark and musty staircase. We scrambled down, blind in the pitch black.

“Hit the light,” Raven said. “Before I break my neck.”