Dang it, we still had no witnesses. If Angie had visited Allen that morning to poison him, it would’ve been the final piece of circumstantial evidence we needed to pin her down. But maybe Laura still knew something useful about their relationship.
“Do you know why Angie Pine and Allen didn’t get along? Everyone’s saying that she did it, but I’m not sure if I believe it. Did they really hate each other that much?”
Laura perked up and nodded her head vigorously. “Oh yeah, those two hated each other. There was one time I was just finishing up cleaning the kitchen when that awful woman stopped by. She started screaming at Mr. White through the front door, saying all sorts of nasty things. He had to threaten to call the cops before she’d leave.” She raised her chin and pursed her lips together. “It was dreadful. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who killed him.”
Bingo! Laura Blight’s testimony, combined with the letter we found in Angie’s basement, was plenty of evidence to take the blame off Grammy Jo. Ian Larson could take his suspicion and shove it right up his…
The front door burst open and in walked a tall gangly man dressed in a loose fitting linen t-shirt and draw-stringed pants. His shaggy light brown hair looked slightly matted and dingy, as if he’d been playing in dirt this morning. I wouldn’t have said he was any older than 30. In his arms lay a small cotton bag, filled with something like sand.
“They’re almost ready, my dear,” he shouted before spotting us all. Pausing in front of the door, he shifted and lowered the bag, as if to hide it behind one of his pant legs. “What are you doing here? No one’s supposed to be here.”
My tongue twisted inside of my mouth. The story we’d made up just minutes ago flew out of my head. I looked over at Blythe. Panic pulsed in her wide eyes. She’d forgotten the story, too.
An awkward minute ticked by before Raven stepped forward. She stood nearly eye to eye with the man, her customary tight black jeans and Suicide Squad t-shirt drawing a quick scan-over by the intruder. “We’re helping plan Mr. White’s memorial. And who
exactly are you?”
He took a step back, bumping into the tall glass panes next to the antique door. “I’m Andy Jenkings. I live just next door.” He pointed to his left. “I was just dropping off some…” He looked down at the bag in his hands and held it up. “Some fertilizer. For the gardens. Laura didn’t know what kind to get.”
So, this was the hippy neighbor who liked to fight with Mr. White over water waste? It was awfully nice of him to care about his dead wasteful neighbor’s yard.
Raven must’ve been thinking the same thing, because she raised one thin eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I thought you hated Mr. White’s gardens.”
Andy shook his head and I swear, dirt fell to the floor. “Well, yeah, I hated them. The man didn’t care an ounce about water conservation. Did you know landscaping accounts for over half the water we waste? Dude – if we just all made some minor changes to the way we lived on this planet, then maybe it’d be around for our children and children’s children. I’m sick of seeing all the waste.”
“And Mr. White was wasteful?”
“He was the worst.” Andy jumped forward. “I mean, there are some other people in this town I’d love to take care of, but he was the absolute worst. In fact, I’m glad he’s dead. The dude had it coming.”
My heart wanted to beat right out of my chest. The three of us exchanged shocked expressions as Laura ran forward, batting her tissue at Andy.
“You don’t mean that. He doesn’t mean that. It’s all just talk.” She took his arm and practically yanked him into the foyer. “I think it’s time for you ladies to go. If you need anything else, just call next time.”
Laura nearly shoved us back out the front door and down the steps. The sound of her slamming the wooden door behind us made us all cringe.
“Boy, if I didn’t have my money on Angie Pine, I’d say that hippy dude would be my first suspect,” I told them as we strolled toward Main Street.
“He did seem awfully happy about Allen’s death,” Raven said quietly.
“Do you really think he could’ve killed Mr. White over water waste? I mean, money, I understand. But water?”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason Andy would’ve killed Mr. White,” Blythe said slyly. She skipped ahead of us and turned, blocking the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?” I placed my hands on my hips. I hadn’t seen another motive for murder in that dusty old mansion. And I’m an artist. Not much gets past me.
“Come on, it is so obvious.” She splayed out her arms and twirled in place. “Laura Blight’s in love. My momma saw her dream the other night. She’s boinking the hippy neighbor.”
Aunt Piper’s detailed description of Laura’s romantic dream came back to me. Sure, Laura might have been in love with Andy. They might have even been sleeping together. But that didn’t give him extra motive to take care of his neighbor.
Raven grabbed Blythe’s hand to keep her from spinning. “So you think Mr. White would’ve had a problem with the relationship?”
She nodded, her blonde bob bouncing back and forth. “Yep. He hated his neighbor so much, he would’ve fired Laura Blight on the spot if he caught them. While Allen was alive and Laura worked for him, they would never truly be together. That’s motive, baby.”
Blythe skipped off toward her little rented office, leaving Raven and me to raise our eyebrows at each other. This case was getting more complicated by the hour. Given enough time, the whole town could be a suspect.
Chapter 12
The three of us witches didn’t have time that morning to discuss the implications of our interview with Laura Blight. We had to wait until the evening to meet at the Jazz Club, out of earshot of any nosy aunt or grandmother. Angie Pine’s letter was still folded up in my front jean pocket, practically burning a hole in the denim.