Magic & Monsters (Starry Hollow Witches Book 12) Page 5

  “Is this the bee room?” I asked in an effort to distract her from her grief. She’d cry over the oatmeal cookies later, of course—that was inevitable—but at least she could do it in peace without a reporter present.

  Mabel smiled. “You would think. Winston called it the hive. He was a beekeeper once upon a time and we used to receive bee-related items and gifts all the time. When we moved to this house, I told him all the bee items needed to be contained in one room or else we’d be overrun.”

  “He doesn’t keep bees anymore?”

  “Oh, not for many years. Once he started traveling for work, he gave them up. I’m allergic to bee stings so we couldn’t risk leaving me to care for them.”

  I choked on my response. “Wait,” I said, finding my voice. “Was he already a beekeeper when you married him?”

  “No, but he was dedicated to helping bees thrive. They’re so integral to life on our planet. Who was I to stand in his way?”

  “Um, his wife. The woman he loved. Couldn’t he just start a beekeeping society and encourage others to care for the bees?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Winston’s work was important. We took safety precautions. There was only one incident.”

  My eyes rounded. “And you lived to tell the tale?”

  “Thankfully.” She crossed her ankles and smoothed the wrinkles at the bottom of her dress. “I suppose you’d like information for the obituary.”

  “To be honest, I’d been planning to write an article on him because of the tepen and coming out of retirement. I’d intended to see you anyway.”

  Her eyes glistened. “I see.”

  “It might be therapeutic to talk about him.” For the first couple years, I talked about Karl to anyone who would listen. I had no doubt I made people uncomfortable at the time. I remembered making references to Karl to strangers at the deli, to the grocery store cashier, and even to the gas station attendants—in New Jersey, you don’t pump your own gas.

  “Winston was a good paranormal who had great respect for this world and cared deeply about its creatures and the environment.”

  I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I appreciate that, Mabel, but I can read that in every article ever written about him. Tell me about him as his wife.”

  She laughed awkwardly. “We had wonderful conversations. Even though I didn’t travel with him, I felt like I’d seen the world and all its wonders. He loved to talk to me about his projects.”

  “You never traveled with him, not even when you were younger?”

  She lowered her gaze. “Oh, goodness no. His trips involved tents and jungles and canteens of water. If I went somewhere, I wanted a nice hotel and fresh linens.”

  “And where did you go together? Any memorable vacations?” Karl and I had been too young and broke to travel. We talked about it a lot, though. He’d wanted to take me to see the redwood trees in California. I’d even considered sprinkling his ashes there but felt strange about going without him. Thinking back, I realized what a weird time it had been for me.

  Mabel’s cheeks grew flushed. “We spent our honeymoon in Egypt.”

  “That’s exciting. I’ve never been out of the country.”

  “Our hotel had a pool and the food was delicious. So unusual.”

  “What about the sights?”

  She averted her gaze. “Winston caught wind of a rare creature in the Red Sea and was off and running.”

  I balked. “Are you telling me you spent your honeymoon alone at the hotel waiting for him to hunt down some magical creature?”

  “It was fine. He got his footage on the fourth day so we were able to spend the rest of the week together.” She smiled dreamily. “Thank you for reminding me. It was a wonderful trip.”

  “Where else have you visited?”

  She splayed her hands on the cushions on either side of her. “Nowhere. We talked about taking anniversary trips but we couldn’t seem to fit it into his busy work schedule. I can’t complain. We were able to live quite comfortably and I know I’m financially secure even though he’s gone.”

  “Did he have life insurance?” I asked. So much for tactful and sensitive questions.

  Mabel laughed. “Do you really think there’s an insurance company that would underwrite someone like Winston? We were lucky he lived as long as he did.”

  “Yeah, I guess his job was pretty dangerous.”

  “If it wasn’t the creature putting him at risk, it was the location. Icebergs. Jungles. Mountains.” She shook her head. “Winston may not have looked like much of a daredevil, but he was.”

  No insurance claim as a motive then. “And he put money away for retirement?”

  “Oh, yes. That was something we both agreed on. The plan was to live comfortably and travel.”

  “But you haven’t gone anywhere this past year.”

  “No, but we would have eventually. We were settling into a new routine.”

  I surveyed the room, trying to imagine their life together. “What did he do when he was home with you?”

  Her gaze shifted to the bookcase against the far wall. “He was constantly reading or in his workshop. Every book was the chance to learn or make a new discovery.”

  “I have a voracious bookworm in my house too. My daughter would rather have her nose in a book than do just about anything.” Except magic.

  “Mark my words. It’ll never change.” Her sigh was weary and I felt sorry for her, knowing what the next few months would be like. Actually, they’d be worse for Mabel. She’d been married to Winston for decades, whereas I was still young when I lost my husband and we hadn’t had the chance to build a solid relationship like the Yorks.

  “Tell me about yesterday morning,” I said. “You might want to consider writing down the memory so you have it for later.” Mabel wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Her memory might start to fade in the next year or so.

  She wrapped her hands around her knee. “It was a typical morning except he skipped breakfast because he was too excited to eat.” She smiled. “He was so childlike in that way. For the past year, he’d taken a walk by himself every single morning to contemplate the universe.”

  “Who doesn’t spend their morning contemplating the universe? I’d wonder about him if he didn’t.”

  Mabel shot me a quizzical look. “Really? I always thought it was a strange habit.”

  Okay, so Mabel wasn’t fluent in sarcasm. Duly noted.

  “Anyway, I asked him to post a letter for me on his way to the beach and that was the last time I saw him.” Her expression clouded over. “The last words I ever said to my husband were ‘don’t forget to put the stamp on or it’ll come back.’” Tears began to spill from her eyes. “Can you believe those were my last words to my husband after all these years of marriage? I didn’t even tell him I love him.”

  I fished a clean tissue from my bag and handed it to her. “It’s not like you expected it to be the last time.” I tried to remember the last words I’d said to Karl before he left for work that fateful day. There was a time that maybe I could’ve quoted them but not anymore. The realization made me feel guilty. Shouldn’t I remember a moment like that?

  “I’m sure he knew, Mabel.”

  “We took each other for granted. That’s what happens when you grow a garden and don’t tend to it.” Her thin lips formed a straight line and she rose to her feet. “Why don’t I take you around the house? It might give you a better sense of him.”

  “If you’re sure you’re up for it.”

  “It would do me good to stretch my legs.” She made a show of kicking out each foot and rotating her ankle.

  “That would be nice, thanks.” We exited the living room and entered the farmhouse-style kitchen. “How did you meet him?”

  A smile played upon her lips. “At a lecture. We attended the cocktail party afterward and discovered we’re both half fae. We bonded over that and were married a year later.”

  “Wow. That was fast.”
<
br />   Mabel shrugged. “It was typical in those days.” She opened the back door and we crossed into a courtyard where she pointed to a stone building. “That’s his workshop. I’m not allowed in there. It’s his sanctuary.” She put air quotes around the word ‘sanctuary.’

  Ah, the old paranormal’s equivalent of a man cave. I offered a mischievous smile. “You’re allowed in there now.”

  She grunted. “That’s all right. I can guess what’s in there and it doesn’t interest me.”

  “If you want, I can act as your emotional support animal while you poke around. I have one of those at home so I have experience.”

  She frowned. “You have an off-limits workshop?”

  “No, an emotional support animal.” Sort of. “Technically I have two. One’s a bossy raccoon and the other is a geriatric dog with high standards.”

  “I have cats,” Mabel said.

  “You mentioned that.” I glanced around us. “Where are they? I haven’t seen them.”

  “Winston was allergic so they’ve always stayed in the spare room upstairs.”

  “They didn’t mind?”

  “It’s a large room and they have the run of it, although they’ll probably enjoy their freedom now.” She stopped outside the door to the workshop. “You’re welcome to look inside, but I think I’ll stay out here. It doesn’t feel right. Winston didn’t want me to go in and I think I should respect his wishes.”

  I inclined my head toward the workshop. “You’ll have to come in here eventually, unless you plan to keep it as a museum.”

  “Maybe I will. A way of preserving his legacy.” She pressed her lips together and I could tell she was struggling to keep a lid on her emotions. “Would you like a drink while you explore? Iced tea?”

  “No thanks. I don’t trust myself not to spill.”

  “Alrighty then. I’m going to feed the cats. I’ll come back here when I’m done.”

  My first impression upon opening the door was that the workshop was surprisingly creepy. I expected a dusty library with a well-worn leather sofa and a tasteful rug acquired from a weaver in a remote village. Instead, the airy space reminded me of a combination of a hunting lodge and a witch’s cottage. There were stuffed full-sized creatures mounted on the walls like trophies and shelves lined with jars filled with bugs, fragments of enchanted horns, and colorful liquids I didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure I wanted to. Some jars were labeled with unfamiliar terms like siduri, vasuki, and patecatl. Books were piled high everywhere I turned, including an unsteady tower of them beside the sofa. I could understand why he kept his wife out of his workshop. She’d want to clean and tidy and then he’d never be able to find his jar of magical testicles. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Winston was looking less like a creature hunter and more like an eccentric pervert. No wonder he excluded his wife from this area of his life. She’d have been mortified by his interests.

  I wandered over to the far wall where there were framed articles, all covering Winston’s travels and his latest conquest. I laughed at the poster of a white pegasus with its wings spread wide smack in the middle of the framed articles. The poster would have looked more at home on Marley’s wall. I moved on to framed photographs of some of the rare and endangered creatures that Winston successfully captured on film—Winston with a horned animal I didn’t recognize. Winston with his hand on a younger guy’s shoulder and some kind of winged monkey demon. Awards. Certificates. Winston’s entire career was encapsulated in this workshop.

  “See anything of interest?” Mabel’s muffled voice came from outside the door.

  “That would be an understatement,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that, dear? I can’t hear you.”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said loudly.

  I shifted my attention away from the walls. He didn’t seem to use a desk. Instead, there were tables of different sizes throughout the workshop. I spotted one with a coffee mug that read Not All Who Wander Are Lost. Seemed fitting. There was still an inch of brown liquid in the cup, which suggested he’d been in here recently. I studied the items on the table to see what he might’ve been working on before he came out of retirement. Maybe the murder was related.

  A partial image of a creature with red glowing eyes peeked at me from beneath the mug. Winston seemed to be using a notecard as a coaster. I shifted the mug aside and picked up the notecard, flipping it open to read the neatly printed handwriting—Don’t even think about it. You’re done.

  My breath caught in my throat. A threatening note received right before the murder? I tucked the notecard in my pocket and gave the workshop a final, sweeping glance before leaving.

  I found Mabel in the kitchen with two cats winding their way around her legs. She stood at the stovetop stirring the contents of a pot. The scent of basil lingered in the air.

  “Find anything good for your article?” she asked.

  “He certainly was accomplished.” I leaned against the counter beside her. “Did your husband have any enemies, Mrs. York?”

  She snorted. “He’s built an entire career around tracking rare supernatural creatures. There’ve been vocal opponents as well as those who wanted to get to them first for profit or trophies.”

  “The ones mounted on the wall…” I had to assume she knew about them. It would be hard to sneak a stuffed creature the size of a bear past his wife.

  She looked at me sideways. “Oh, Winston didn’t kill any of them. He wouldn’t dream of it. Sometimes his quest would end in an unhappy discovery. In those situations, he shipped them home to study them later.”

  “Is that why he has all those jars with fragments and liquids?”

  She stopped stirring and set the wooden spoon on the handle of the pot. “Winston was fascinated by all aspects of the creatures he tracked. He tried to extract as much information from an expedition as he could, whether the creature was alive or not.”

  “Do you know anything about this?” I asked, holding open the notecard so she could read it.

  “Oh, yes. Winston showed it to me. That’s from Jarek. Winston was more interested in the image on the notecard. He had a soft spot for those hideous red-eyed creatures.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and shifted one of the cats with her foot.

  “Who’s Jarek?”

  “Jarek Heidelberg. He’s an activist. He disapproved of Winston and was quite vocal about it over the years.”

  “They knew each other well enough that Jarek didn’t even need to sign the note?”

  “Flip it over. His name is on the back in the small print.”

  I turned the notecard over to read the back. Sure enough, there was a paragraph about Jarek and his efforts to protect the rare and magical creatures of this world from interference.

  “This came recently?”

  She nodded. “Word spread quickly about Winston coming out of retirement.”

  “Did this come in the mail?”

  “No, he slid it under the front door two days ago. I guess he’s in town to protest residents interfering with the tepen.” She blew out a sad breath. “I suppose he’ll think Winston got his just desserts, killed by a creature that he should have left alone.”

  “That would be a cold way of looking at it.” I slid the notecard back into my pocket. “Thank you for letting me look around. I appreciate it.”

  “I’d like to read the article when you publish it. Will you send me a copy?”

  “Of course.”

  One of the cats meowed, drawing Mabel’s sorrowful gaze to the floor. “He promised me he was finished with all this. This was meant to be our time together.” Her voice shook as she revealed her true feelings. “If he’d kept his word, this never would’ve happened. We’d be planning how to spend our twilight years together.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. York.”

  She fixed her red-rimmed eyes on me. “Thank you, dear. So am I.”

  Chapter Six

  On the way home from the York house, I shared what I’d learned with
the sheriff.

  “No financial motive for the wife,” he said, more to himself.

  “And plenty of enemies from the sound of it.”

  “I’ll check the local inns to see where Jarek Heidelberg is staying,” he said.

  “Sounds good. I have an incantation lesson, but I’m happy to help you afterward.”

  “Hyacinth still has you playing school with the coven?” He sounded amused.

  “It’s a way to control me and keep my lack of confidence going indefinitely.”

  He chuckled. “I doubt she wants that. I think she’d be happier to discover that you were talented enough not to need lessons anymore. You’re an extension of her, remember? If you suck at magic, then it’s a reflection on her.”

  “Which is why she sort of skips over my existence and focuses on Marley. She knows I’m a lost cause.”

  “You’re not a lost cause, Rose.”

  “I’m cool with it. Just because I have potential doesn’t mean I need to fulfill it. It makes me tired just thinking about it and I’d rather kick back and eat pizza.”

  I pulled into the driveway of the cottage where Wren was already waiting for me. The attractive Master of Incantation crouched in front of Marley’s herb garden and straightened when my car rolled to a stop.

  “Are you offering free gardening services?” I asked as I exited the car.

  “Just admiring the handiwork. I’m guessing this isn’t you.” He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the thriving plants.

  I joined him at the base of the garden. “What makes you think I’m not responsible for the health of these fine beauties?”

  “Because I bet you don’t even know their names, let alone how to properly care for them.” He watched me with an amused expression as I lamely pointed at the closest herb.

  “That’s calculus,” I said.

  Wren smirked. “Calculus is a type of math. You mean calamus.”

  “See? I was close.”

  “No, because that’s not calamus either. That’s burdock.”