Thorn to Die

“Yeah, that’s because anytime she gets excited enough for her eyes to change like that, we’re usually the ones that get in trouble,” Raven mumbled.

I shot them both a dirty look and then shrugged my shoulders. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and mine were as clear as the windows Aunt Piper had scrubbed clean last night. They tended to turn green when I got determined. And I was determined to save Grammy Jo.

It was then that the two ladies looking at curtains migrated our way. Their backs curved with age and silver hair cut in identical short permed styles, they clutched their purses tight and smiled at the three of us.

“What could the Brunick cousins be whispering about?” one old lady asked the other.

“Probably about the murder,” the second answered gleefully. “We all know Angie Pine did it. She’s had her eyes on Allen’s roses for years. He’d never contract out to her store. Now that he’s dead, she gets the roses and all the money.”

That was interesting. Another suspect that fit the bill. I had to admit, Angie didn’t seem very sad to see Allen dead. Could she be a ruthless killer?

The tickle of a bell announced someone entering the hardware store. We all turned to see Angie Pine strolling in, her large hips swaying past the cash registers. The two old women hopped at the sight of her and each scuttled off in a different direction like cockroaches exposed to the light.

“I’ve got your invoice for the wedding, Blythe,” she said in a gruff tone. A frown pulled at her thin lips, leaving deep wrinkles in her forehead. She looked like a snapping turtle ready to bite. Maybe the rumors that she’d murdered Mr. White had already reached her ears. “Calla lilies this time of year are expensive, I’m afraid. You’ll see that reflected in the total.”

Blythe nodded and then reached for the yellowed piece of paper. Their hands touched and she froze, her eyes glossing over. The paper swayed between their hands as she maintained a mannequin-like pose.

Angie pulled away uncertainly, looking toward Raven for assistance. “Does she do that often?”

Raven opened her mouth, but no sound c

ame out. Awkward.

I recognized that facial expression. Blythe was having one of her glimpses into the future. Obviously, magic was at play here. How could we explain it to Angie without her thinking we belonged in a loony bin?

“It’s a condition, I’m afraid,” I said, stepping in. My nose began to itch, but I clasped my hands into tight fists at my side. “Nothing to do but wait.”

“Hmmm...” Angie took a step back as if it were contagious. “I hope she gets help.”

“Of course, Ms. Pine.” I directed her toward the door and pulled it open. “She’s in therapy right now. The doctor said we came to him just in time. Any longer, and Blythe might’ve lost what’s left of her good brain cells.”

Just because it was a lie, didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun with it.

Angie nodded solemnly. “Always knew something was wrong with that girl. Let me know if she needs anything else.”

I tucked my chin and waited for Angie to exit. As soon as the door closed, I spun on my heels and sprinted back to my cousins. “What did you see?”

Blythe shivered in her pink lacy cardigan, a resentful scowl pulling at her pouty mouth. “This is your fault, you know? If you hadn’t suggested we become some kind of witchy detectives, I wouldn’t have had that stupid vision.”

Her words nearly made me salivate. I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Right, right. So, what did you see? Did it have anything to do with Allen White?”

Slowly she nodded her head up and down. “Yes, it did.”

I couldn’t contain myself. “And…?”

With a last shiver, Blythe wrapped her arms around her knees and sighed. “And I think I know who killed him.”

Chapter 9

As soon as the hardware store had emptied, Raven locked the door and unplugged the neon OPEN sign. We gathered around Blythe, still perched on the stool. She looked at me warily, her eyes becoming slits. I raised my eyebrows and nodded at her, ready to hear about the vision.

“Take it easy on me, okay? My visions are usually pretty blurry. Don’t go all Rambo on my butt.”

I sighed and raised my hands in surrender. No problems here. We just needed to know who the killer was.

Blythe shifted in her seat and ran her hands over her linen skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “It looked like I was in a basement. It was dank and musty. Boxes stacked to the ceiling. The moon was shining in one of the little windows. I remember an old work table in the middle of the room, the legs scarred and rough.”

My head nearly bobbed off my neck. “And…?”