Thyme and Trouble: Heywood Herbalist Cozy Mysteries, #5

By Carly Winter

Her past has caught up with her… will a killer do the same?

When Mrs. Mason, the owner of Knit Wit, finds her husband murdered, Sam Jones steps in to console her despite her own troubled life filled with uncertainty and loneliness. 

As their friendship blossoms, Sam confronts her past and the mistakes she's made. But will it be enough for the local deputy, Jordan Branson, to forgive her?

While the police hunt for clues as to who the killer is, Sam also worries for her own life. Will the murderer be revealed before Sam becomes the next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westward Publishing
• Release date: Feb 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215506332

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

New Year’s Day

Although the New Year was supposed to be a time of renewal, a heavy weight sat on my shoulders, threatening to suffocate me. Standing outside in the bitter cold morning air drinking coffee on the deck that had once given me such joy, my chest clenched with dread. I hadn’t spoken to Deputy Jordan Branson since that fateful Christmas Eve when he’d found out my secret— a secret I never should have kept from those close to me: my true identity and the fraud my dead husband had committed which had led me to Heywood.

I’d called a few times and even stopped by his house, but he’d claimed he needed time to think things through and he wasn’t sure he trusted me. I reminded him that I had believed in him when he’d been accused of a crime he didn’t commit, but according to him, my situation was different. I wasn’t sure how, but I finally stopped chasing him. If he wanted to be my friend—and possibly more—then he could come around when he was ready. Only then would I give him another thought… or so I told myself.

Since that fateful night when I’d seen my face plastered across the Los Angeles Times, I’d been looking over my shoulder, waiting for the inevitable. Either the L.A.P.D. or one of my so-called friends from my former life would travel to Heywood.

The L.A.P.D. most likely had some more questions for me about my husband’s dealings. Why had I left town? Was there something I was hiding? Did I have information I hadn’t previously shared?

I could see a couple of the friends I’d had making the trip to rub my face in my dismissal from Hollywood and chastise me for the simple life I’d built. You don’t have a housekeeper? You really need to hit those lines around your eyes with a couple shots of Botox. You live in this tiny apartment and run this silly business?

Nothing was below them.

The time would come when I would have to confront what I’d left behind—I felt it in my bones. I just didn’t know where or when.

Good morning, Sam! I glanced at the walkway between my store, Sage Advice, and the one next to mine, Knit Wit. Mrs. Mason waved as she walked up the path from the Riverwalk. In her seventies, she was short and round, but I freely admitted she seemed to have more energy than me.

Good morning, Mrs. Mason! I called, hoping my attempt at sounding cheerful worked. How are things today?

Fine. Just took a quick walk before opening the store. She climbed to the top of the hill, her chest heaving. Pulling off her purple knit cap that matched her gloves, she flashed a smile on her pale, doughy face. It feels good to get the old blood pumping.

I nodded and chastised myself for not even taking a walk in the past month. The cold seemed to have paralyzed me, making it impossible to get warm. The last thing I wanted to do was be out in it, yet here I stood, staring at the river below. My worries had distracted me, my loneliness overwhelming. I hurried over to the path.

Are you going to be busy today? I asked. I’m surprised you’re open on New Year’s Day.

I could say the same about you, she replied, her smile fading. You look so sad, Sam. Have you heard from Jordan?

Mrs. Mason had been there Christmas Eve and witnessed Jordan’s reaction when I shared my past. She’d watched him walk away. No. Well, not really. He says he needs time to process what I told him.

Clucking her tongue, she rolled her eyes. Men. Even on their best days they’re more difficult than children. I would think he’d be thrilled to be in the company of someone so exciting.

‘Exciting’ wasn’t really a word I’d use to describe myself, but I supposed to those who had never lived in Hollywood, I may be that. And for many years, I’d considered my life very full. It wasn’t until I was out of the spotlight that I realized just how empty I’d felt. Well, I guess he prefers boring.

Nonsense. He just needs some time. He’ll be back. I saw the way he looks at you. Trust me on this one. She reached out and patted my parka-clad arm with her glove. I best get into the store. The knitting club is meeting today and I have to get the coffee on.

On New Year’s Day?

Mrs. Mason nodded. We set our goals for the year, talk about what happened over the holidays, and complain about relatives who came to visit and have now returned home. It’s a great time.

With a smile, I said my goodbyes and went inside my own store. My teeth chattered as I pulled off my gloves and switched on the space heater. Despite the furnace running, it didn’t provide enough warmth for me, especially since I’d become lost in thought standing out in the freezing cold.

Once I could feel my fingers and toes, I pulled out the inventory clipboard. My cat, Catnip, meowed hello as he descended the stairs leading up to our apartment, then stretched out in front of the space heater. Closing his eyes, he purred loudly.

Glad you like it, buddy, I said, then walked to the front of the store to see what products needed replenishing. Definitely more cold and flu remedies as we weren’t out of that season quite yet. We were also running low on Sally’s special hot chocolate made from mushrooms. I knew the item would sell well, but I’d had no idea just how fast it would fly off the shelf. Thankfully, Sally had no interest in selling it in her own store beyond making it for special customers. She’d told me she had too many other things to worry about.

Annabelle and I also needed to plan our themes for spring so I could get the items ordered and give her time to work her magic with the tinctures. I had no intention of opening on New Year’s Day, but I had to keep myself busy so my thoughts weren’t consumed with my current reality.

As I worked, tears pricked my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on my business, all I could think about was when my past would come knocking at my front door. And I wouldn’t have Jordan by my side to help me weather the storm.

I turned when the lock on the front door clicked. Annabelle strode in carrying two cups from Cup of Go. Good morning! she chirped as she headed for the cash register.

Good morning, I replied. What are you doing here? We aren’t open today.

Her thick, sparkly blue eyeliner outlined her eyes while her crimped hair cascaded around her face. She set the coffee down on the counter.

Oh, I know, she said, shucking her pink calf-length parka. I just figured you’d, like, want some company.

I sighed with relief that I wasn’t alone any longer, but at the same time, I was pretty deep in my own pity party and wanted to be left to continue.

So what did you end up doing last night? Annabelle asked, her dozens of bracelets clinking up and down her arm as she hung her coat. Anything exciting?

I shook my head and grabbed the vanilla latte. Thank you for this, I said, taking a long sip. So good. What about you? Did you end up going out?

Oh, heck yes, she replied. Gina and I hit the party at On The River. Sally really knows how to throw a fiesta!

Tell me about it. Anything to take my mind off my own problems for a bit.

Well, we had a couple tequila shots, ate some food, danced, and then I sang karaoke.

Gina didn’t join you? I asked, then took a sip of my coffee to hide my smile.

No. She’s, like, a chicken. I mean, I’d totally carry us. She just had to be backup.

What song?

You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi.

Recalling the song and knowing Annabelle, I couldn’t hide my grin any longer. She took her eighties music quite seriously.

Do you want to see it? she asked, pulling her phone from her pocket. Someone filmed it and put it on TikTok. I have over five-thousand views so far.

I stayed far away from social media except for the odd video or post Annabelle shared with me. Sure. Let’s see your performance.

After she pulled up the video, she turned on the sound and I witnessed a female Bon Jovi singing her heart out, in tune. You’re really good, I said at the end. To my horror, the next video served up showed my face.

I-I did well, Annabelle said, pulling the phone from my view. Her cheeks reddened and she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

What was that? I asked. Did I really want to know?

Oh, nothing.

That wasn’t nothing, Annabelle. Let me see the video.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Sam, it’s probably better if you don’t.

The sickening dread that had consumed me all week only grew. Perhaps she was right. Maybe I shouldn’t watch the video. Yet, if I didn’t, I’d worry about it and only make my anxiety worse.

Is it bad? I asked.

She nodded and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Did… did you put it up there?

Oh, my gosh! she shouted, stepping away while her brow furrowed in anger. Of course not!

So it must be terrible for her to have such a visceral reaction to my question. Let me see it, I said, waving her back. Please.

She groaned, but held up her phone. A few taps later, my face appeared again.

The picture was from a few years ago. I stood on stage at the Emmy’s wearing a stunning purple sequined gown. As I held up the trophy, I beamed with pride, my smile wide, my eyes glistening with tears. Along the bottom, writing appeared. This is…

The second photo was from my fall at the Emmy’s where I’d toppled backward and shown everyone my red thong. I cringed as I recalled the horror of that night and how thrilled I’d been when I learned my hideous moment hadn’t been televised… but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been filmed. Now, it was out on TikTok for everyone to see.

How to…

The final picture flashed—Jordan and I dressed in Santa suits trying to prevent Mary from killing her lover, Terry—one that had been plastered on the front of the L.A. Times.

…Fail at life.

Laughter emojis ran across the screen.

I’d forgotten about social media. People didn’t even need to show up at my door to mock and ridicule me. A larger reach could be found on the internet.

Annabelle shoved the phone back in her pocket. I’m sorry you had to see that.

Who put it up? I asked, trying to steel my spine so the video didn’t cut too close.

Your former co-star, Bradley Bass.

Ah, yes. Good old Bradley—the highly functioning drunk I used to work with who always smelled of whisky. It didn’t surprise me he’d stoop so low.

I sighed and twisted a curl around my finger, determined not to let it get to me. There was nothing I could do about a stupid video placed on social media by a stupid man who only wanted to demean me. I had my life directly in front of me that needed my attention.

Thanks for showing that to me, I said.

He’s just a big idiot, Annabelle said. You shouldn’t think about it.

I nodded and wished I could do that, but unfortunately, that video would eat away at me until I became exhausted and could no longer give the energy to care anymore. That was the way I handled most embarrassing events.

Anyway, Annabelle continued, I was wondering if you wanted to go to On The River and get something to eat?

Is Sally open today? Even after the party last night?

Oh, yeah. She’s got a huge buffet going.

Sure. That sounds good. I’d like to get—

Did you just hear that? Annabelle interrupted.

Both of us remained quiet, then a scream sounded from outside. Annabelle’s eyes widened. We rushed out onto the deck just as Mrs. Mason came stumbling out her door. She cried out again.

Mrs. Mason! I yelled, hurrying over to her, Annabelle right behind me. What’s wrong?

She pointed inside Knit Wit as she covered her hand with her mouth. Slowly, Annabelle and I walked inside. The back