Snips and Snails Cafe Mystery 4-6 Book Bundle: Snips and Snails Cafe` Bundles, #2

By Elizabeth Rain

DEATH BY DUMPLING
Juli Mason hired Bertie the Bag Lady, living in the alley behind Snips and Snails, out of desperation.
It was a smooth move.

Who knew Bertie would clean up so well? … Or that she was in actual fact, a Sous Chef with serious skills in the kitchen?When the Hat River in Veil Falls coughs up a wrecked Cadillac Sedan beneath the Fae Road Bridge and Bertie Faints at the news...Juli smells a mystery...
There's something strange going on in Veil Falls. It's up to Juli Mason to solve the case...or the results could just be murder.

 

LOCKED, LOADED, AND BAKED?

What happens when Teenage Hijinks turn into Murder?

When the latest in a slew of Dumpster fires at the local campground turn up a finger and a ring, Jack Lovelace smells a corpse...and a job for his girlfriend Juli...Part-time Detective...Full-time Soup Witch at Snips and Snails Cafe...
Is there a Serial Killer Loose in Veil Falls? Will they find the culprit before a new grave is dug for the next victim?
But first, she'll need to get cooking. If she's to survive what's coming, she'll need a new kind of Hero. And she has just the right recipe to conjure one up…

 

RIBOLLITA ROBBERY

The Gloves are off, or is it hats? in Veil Falls

Someone has an axe to grind with Jerry Watson, who has the popular vote in town, and is favored to win by a landslide come election time. There's the rash of mean graffiti all over town, smearing Jerry's reputation and making him look like a poor second candidate to the standing police chief, Larry Jokerbridge.
If Juli doesn't want to visit her favorite sheriff in prison and have 'The Joker" around for another four years, she'll have to get busy, find the real killer, and clear Jerry's name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215001769

Book preview

DEATH BY DUMPLING

Snips and Snails Book Four

CHAPTER ONE

The Soo Locks Gazette hit Beverly Vanhousing’s desk with a slap, jostling her morning coffee. She jerked back, staring up at her son Kyle with asperity.

Idiot. Watch what you 're doing! she hissed.

Just read it, he shot back, leaning back in the chair that gave a groan of protest and slid sideways when he landed in it.

Mouth pinching in irritation, she reached out, grabbing up the paper and smoothing it open in front of her. The headline splashed across the front page in bold black, the full frontal photo fuzzy enough to make her squint over the rims of her bifocals. She made out the outline of a large building in the bay district, flames shooting through the roof. Emergency vehicles surrounded the warehouse. She read. Main Street Tobacco Dispensary Warehouse Lights up. She gave a grunt, dark brows rising as she glared up at her son.

So, the editor missed his or her calling as a comedian. So what am I looking at this for? Wait, were you responsible for lighting the match?

Kyle Vanhousing ground his teeth together. His sense of humor on a good day was lacking. First thing in the morning on a Monday, it was completely absent. Not that. The other article, near the end of the page.

Her own patience thin, Beverly’s lips firmed as her eyes moved past several other increasingly small articles to a short paragraph and photo she nearly missed, sandwiched at the very bottom, between an ad for cigarettes and another article about a lost puppy in a storm drain. The surgeon general’s warning against smoking was in stark relief, thumbing the burning bales of tobacco above. The small headline made her pause, the first niggling sense of doom causing the hair along her neck to prickle with unease. Lost and Found in Veil Falls, she read aloud, before she continued in silence, the color leaching from her cheeks and her fingers giving a brief tremble as they smoothed over the ink. All these years, and they finally found it, she whispered, looking up at her son. He sat grimly, fingers steepled beneath his chin, lounging back in his chair and waiting for her reaction.

No way is that a coincidence. How many Cadillac XTSs gone missing and then suddenly found can there be? It surfaced beneath some bridge in Veil Falls, Kyle said.

Beverly looked up, adding, Article doesn’t have a lot of information though. Just that they winched it out and the wreck is under investigation. What are the chances that it’s our Cadillac  after all these years?

Kyle shrugged, his indifference grating on Beverly’s nerves. It was his brother they were talking about, after all. Your guess is as good as mine. But it caught my attention, he said.

We don’t know where Mark ended up that night after he left here. He had some idiotic idea that we couldn’t divulge what we didn’t know, she said, slapping the article with the flat of her hand. Or if he found what was taken from me — us.

Kyle chuckled, but not in amusement. You want to know whether Mark kept them for himself?

She started, eyes darkening with fury. He wouldn’t double-cross me. I want to know if he was behind the wheel. She insisted, adding on a softer note, Do you think he found them before he died? After all these years of searching, did he get Ronald to talk and get them back?

Kyle rolled his eyes. Ronald Sawyer was in no condition to divulge anything, and your sentiment is astounding, mother. Where are the tears?

Beverly lurched to her feet, looming over the desk, fists planted on its surface. She presented an intimidating figure, her statuesque form coming in at just under six feet, her carefully coiffed and bleached blond curls lending her several more inches. Kyle remained unimpressed when she continued, There will be time to grieve when we find out if this really is our lost Cadillac and if he was actually in it. Maybe he put it there himself to hide the evidence. Maybe the fool really is off somewhere warm, living it up with my diamonds, she hissed.

Kyle’s brows shot up at that. Don’t you mean ours? Weren’t you going to share?

She looked suddenly flustered, as if she’d been caught out. Of course that’s what I meant. He could have decided to run off with them, himself. Your brother could be hard-headed.

Kyle laughed outright at that. You mean he was like you, right? But enough talk. What do you want to do about it? James and I could take a trip to Veil Falls and see what we could find out. No sense getting excited until we’re sure it’s even him.

She sat back down suddenly, looking unsure of herself for the first time as she stared beyond the window of their five story office building. The top floor office offered an unfettered view of the Soo Locks and the channel between Lake Superior and eventually the Atlantic, through Lake Huron and along the St. Lawrence Seaway. A large barge, carrying cargo to some undisclosed location, moved sluggishly through the canal.

No. The last time I sent a son to do my work, he disappeared for three years. The thought of Mark off someplace warm living the high life is a best-case scenario. Most likely he’s dead. I’m a mother, I need closure.

She gave a sudden decisive nod. We’ll all go. See what we can find out. I’ll make the arrangements.

Kyle gave a curt nod and got to his feet. I’ll let James know.

Where is he, anyhow?

Who is he with, don’t you mean?

Beverly’s dark eyes flashed. Idiot needs to stop messing around with those tramps he keeps picking up at the bars. Find himself a decent socialite. A girl that’s big on looks and shy on brains to settle down with. Give me some grandkids. She gave Kyle a suddenly sly look. And you too. When are you going to make that viper you’re shacked up with an honest woman?

Kyle snorted. "When I know for sure she doesn’t have plans to poison me as soon as the ‘I dos’ are said. And you only say that because she’s just like you."

Beverly’s lips twitched in sudden, rare humor. That’s why you like her.

Kyle moved towards the door. I’m positive that’s not it. Not by a long shot.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE booked? I’m sure you can see fit to make alternate arrangements to accommodate my family this weekend, Beverly insisted, lips pinched at the unaccustomed questioning of her wishes.

The light tinkling voice on the other end of the line grew stilted. I’m afraid that’s not possible. We are booked into May. Might I suggest...

"No. You may not suggest. Your quaint little bed-and-breakfast is the best accommodations Veil Falls offers. It’s where we are staying this weekend."

The receptionist on the other end of the line ignored the dig. I can put you on a waiting list. In case there is a cancellation, though that’s rare.

Beverly held back a snarl, fingers white knuckled around the phone. Give me the names, then, of the other guests. Surely I can make them a suitable and substantial offer to change the date of their stay.

Silence met her request. When the receptionist finally spoke, her tone was notably cool. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We hold our clients’ privacy in deepest regard. I can’t give out personal information.

Beverly gave a waspish smile, suddenly wishing she was speaking in person to the irritating booking agent on the other end of the line. No matter, she could be creative. Your name, then?

The reply was immediate and furious. Lovelace. Rachel Lovelace speaking.

Beverly frowned in sudden confusion. Isn’t that the name of the resort? No matter, Can I also have the name of your manager? I believe we should have a chat concerning your customer service.

Should we? Well then, would you like the name of my husband, or my son?

Beverly  pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it in confusion. Suddenly impatient, she barked into the phone. Just who am I really speaking to, then? she barked.

I told you. Rachel Lovelace, of Lovelace Resorts. Family owned and run for over thirty years. We own this little ‘Bed and Breakfast’. As I’ve explained in great detail, we are booked this weekend. I’m sorry we can't accommodate your demands.

Beverly  opened her mouth to say more when she realized the line had gone dead. Service in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was spotty at best. Maybe the call had been dropped. She refused to fathom that somebody had actually hung up on her.

No matter, there was more than one way to get the information she needed. Money talked, and it changed minds. With grim determination, she swiped right, thumbing through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for. She made the call.

JACK LOVELACE MADE his rounds through the kitchen of Portia’s, the small, but fancy restaurant in his family’s resort. He walked the grounds every morning and evening to troubleshoot any minor issues that might arise from the staff and facilities. Aside from the financial end of things that he helped manage in his parents’ stead, it was one more contribution he made to earn his keep and the rather substantial cottage he lived in. It sat on a small parcel separate from the main resort but still within walking distance of the main doors.

Marilyn Payne, Portia’s head chef, looked up with a smile when he entered. She was putting the finishing touches on several platters of her popular eggs Benedict. The buttery cream sauce over the top of two perfectly done easy eggs made his mouth water and reminded him he was meeting his favorite witch, Juli, at Java’s in an hour for her latest creation, homemade elderberry scones.

That looks delectable. How do you not weigh three-hundred pounds from eating every delicious dish you create?

She laughed, the sound warm as she waggled her fingers in the air and grinned. Magic, Jack. Best you not forget who the head of this kitchen is.

He shook his head. Never happen, Marilyn. You rule the roost here, and the guests are all grateful. Everything is going well then, I assume. Do you need anything this morning?

Nope. We’re good. We’re serving Lobster Thermidor this evening, if you and a certain lady would like to stop by.

Jack grabbed his stomach theatrically and groaned. I’ll ask her, but whose waistline were we talking about?

Yours, I’m sure. A lady doesn’t discuss such things.

Yeah, sure, Marilyn. Whatever you say.

She gave a snort and reached up to hit several buttons on the POS system near her elbow. Nodding at the rest of the kitchen staff as he wandered through, Jack entered the main dining room and spied his mother. Rachel stood deep in conversation with Bo and Jill Weavil, regulars who had to both be pushing eighty. They were repeat customers who availed themselves of Lovelace’s amenities at least twice a year.

Rachel glanced up at his approach, her smile widening.

Jack!

Mother. He reached down and gave her a fond buss on the cheek.

Mr. Weavil brightened when he spied the young man, the jowls on his ample chin jiggling. Jack, my boy. You got time to take me out on a charter later this week sometime?

Jack sighed. You know Maury handles those now. At his crestfallen expression, Jack relented. But it just so happens, Jacob Crawley and I are making a run Tuesday morning for some Lake Trout. Would you be interested in taking a turn on his fishing crawler? See what he hauls in and lend him a hand?

There was a decided gleam in the elderly gentleman’s eyes. Absolutely. His expression faltered, and he slanted a glance at the diminutive woman seated on his left. That is, unless my pumpkin cake says we’re busy...

‘Pumpkin’ sniffed theatrically, eyes twinkling, and patted her mouth with a napkin. If it will get you out of my hair for the morning, I’m all for it. Besides, I think that sounds like a wonderful opportunity for me to visit the spa.

Bo patted her hand. It can’t possibly make you more lovely, my dear.

Jack kept a straight face. I’ll let Jacob know you’re coming, then. I’ll collect you from the lobby at about seven a.m. Dress warm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my rounds. He turned to his mother. I’ll see you and Dad later. I want to go over a couple discrepancies I found in the books.

She reached out delicate fingers and laid them on his forearm. Immediately, peace flooded his being, and he gave a sigh. Rachel Lovelace’s calming touch was well known to those close to her. He figured it was a balm to his father’s sometimes volatile temper.

He headed toward the main desk, his last stop before he took a walk down to the beach house to check on the rentals and the young man that worked there. Penny, the young receptionist that ran the main desk, looked up at his approach with a puzzled frown, the phone still in her hand. His mother had told him she’d had a minor emergency that morning when her car wouldn’t start and she’d ended up being an hour late to work. Rachel had stood in for her and answered the phone until she arrived.

Penny. How’s the car?

Her expression cleared. Fine, now. CJ himself came out and worked his magic under the hood and Voila... started right up.

Jack grinned. "Got a name for that— Magic?"

No, and be nice. I’m just glad he helped me out. He told me to bring it after work so he could give it a thorough inspection.

So, everything’s good here then?

She hesitated, looking at the receiver still in her hand, and hung it up. Yeah, I guess so. The Wallace’s just canceled for this weekend. That’s strange. I mean they always reserve this weekend for their anniversary every year. They called out of the blue just a moment ago and changed the date to the third weekend in May.

Jack frowned. That is odd. Hope everything is okay. So we have an empty suite this weekend.

That’s just it. Within moments of their cancellation, I got another call. A lady from Sault Ste. Marie wants to book a suite for the weekend. Says she and her two sons want to do a spot of birdwatching.

Oh? That is unusual. Kind of early in the spring for seeing much, isn’t it? They say what they were looking for in particular?

No, but they were really concerned about the accommodations while they were here. Ms. Vanhousing had quite the list of requests for housekeeping to see to before their arrival.

Well, we are known for the eccentricity of our guests, Jack agreed.

Penny frowned in unaccustomed irritation. Yes, but most of them are at least polite about it.

BERTIE MARSON WOKE up to her worst nightmare, watching the flames leap and roll across the screen. Her mouth was open to scream before she could remind herself that it wasn’t real. She wasn’t in a building that was falling down around her as it burned. Instead, she was lying in an unfamiliar bed and staring at a TV screen mounted on the opposite wall. She tried to breathe, suck in a breath as her heart slowed from pounding like a jackhammer.

Bertie realized with a start that she was in a hospital bed at Mercy Bay Hospital. She noticed that she’d yanked her heart monitor cord free from the machine with her thrashing. She heard the sound of running feet. At her age, they probably thought she’d coded.

A young nurse ran into the room, her eyes round with panic, and Bertie figured it just might be her first rodeo.

But not mine, Bertie thought. Relax. I’m not dead. I just pulled the cord loose. Call off the cavalry already.

Several other orderlies and a few more nurses skidded to a halt behind her. They realized pretty quickly it was a false alarm and slanted Bertie a dirty look as they faded back away from the door, leaving her to the young nurse while they tended to someone who actually required their services and sympathy. Neither of which she needed nor wanted.

She stared pointedly at the girl that lingered, glancing at the name on the whiteboard on the far wall. Unless she missed her guess, this was the nurse assigned to her. Maggie Owens I presume?

The nurse gave a shy smile and came in the rest of the way, picking up the dangling monitor cord and reattaching it to the machine that registered her vitals. Let’s get this hooked back up, and I’ll check your IV, make sure everything is kosher before I leave you.

Bertie grunted, reaching for the remote on the swinging tray beside her bed. With a filthy glare at the still-burning building on the screen, she hit the channel button and moved to something a little less memorable. A cooking channel popped up. It looked like a show on backyard grilling. Still fire, but better. She could handle it in small doses.

How long have I been here?

Just since late afternoon. Doc says you are going to be fine. Blood pressure was elevated a bit though, and you hit your head pretty good when you fainted. You were really agitated, and Doc gave you something to help you rest.

Can I go then? I’m fine, and I have a restaurant to run.

Miss Maggie shook her head, looking regretful. No, Ms. Marson. Doc says overnight is best, no telling what might happen with head trauma resulting from a fall like that.

Bertie glared at her. I thought you said it was minor? It’s just a little bandage, and there’s no blood. I’m fine.

She looked uncertain, and Bertie almost felt bad about giving her so much trouble. But then she remembered she hated hospitals.

Has anyone been by to see me?

Sure. Earlier there were a couple of people. I can check the charts and see who if you’d like.

Bertie waved a hand in the air diffidently. Don’t bother, but could you get Juli Mason on the phone and tell her I’d like to see her? Between us, I’m certain we can get this all straightened out. I’m betting it was she that brought me in.

Maggie brightened. The dark-haired woman? Owns Snips and Snails? I love that place. You’re the cook, right?

Chef. Cook doesn’t cover it, Bertie protested, frowning.

"I love that spice cake of yours. I get it whenever you have it. And I love Miss Mason’s collection of soups and stews. Last month I had a bowl of her creamy Redeeming the Skin Potato Kale soup. No pimples for a month!" Her voice faded away, but her smile was still 100 watts.

Bertie blinked. Um, sure. But can you get her on the phone? I really need to talk with her.

Ten minutes of fussing later and Bertie was once more alone, playing the waiting game for Juli to arrive and explain herself. Ridiculous that they thought a little fainting spell warranted a trip to the local hospital.

Bertie lay back in bed and tried not to dwell on the tangled mess her life had become. It hadn’t always been that way. She had different memories, fading now, and maybe that was a good thing. Because the worst of what she remembered invaded her sleep with haunting dreams. What Bertie Marson remembered most was what she’d lost and left behind. She’d been an ignorant fool and paid the ultimate price for it.

A shadow loomed in the doorway, and Bertie awoke with a groan, staring at the entrance. She realized she must have dozed off, more tired than she knew. She expected Juli to step into the room. Or maybe even the doctor, there to tell her there was no way she was going home before tomorrow until he’d had her there long enough to collect his fee. She was wrong on both counts.

The elderly man that stepped into the room had her scrambling backwards until she was sitting up against the pillows, bracing them against the headboard behind her back. The old man stepped into the room, eyes rheumy with age but direct as they watched her. He had to be 80 if he was a day, stooped and bent with time and experience. Thin tufts of hair dotted his balding dome, barely covering the rain of age spots that darkened his scalp. He might have once topped six feet, but age had reduced his height by several inches. He offered a small smile, coming in further until he was only a matter of feet away from her.

Ms. Marson, I presume? His voice was raspy and harsh on the ears, as if speech wasn’t something he used much.

How do you know who I am? Bertie shot back, immediately suspicious.

He smiled. I read your chart. The one hanging outside your door?

Oh. She felt suddenly foolish. You don’t look like a doctor. And if you’re a volunteer? Where’s the golden retriever you guys are supposed to bring round to make us all feel better?

That startled a chuckle out of him. Not in this case. Nope, it’s just me. I spend my time visiting those who have experienced a trauma of some sort, or who have inoperable diseases and gift them with a friendly face and an ear to listen if they have a mind.

Bertie stared hard at him. Commendable. But I don’t see how that serves me. A little bump on the noggin’ doesn’t mean I’m dying. Unless there’s something else I don’t know. There isn’t is there? she asked, suddenly worried.

No, but then, thankfully, business is slow. Not enough sick and dying lately and that’s a good thing. So I thought I might pop in, chat a bit with whoever was in room two-o-nine. Surprise, that’s you.

Lucky me.

So, you haven’t answered my question. How are you feeling? Do you know how long you’re going to be in here?

Bertie thought he was quite nosy for a volunteer. She shrugged. Nurse Maggie says that the Doc plans to hold me overnight, just in case. Don’t see what all the fuss is about. It was just a little bump.

What happened? How did you fall?

I fainted, that’s what.

He frowned, looking concerned. Does that happen often?

No. First time. And last I hope, if this is the result. I had a... scare... I suppose.

Oh, what startled you?

None of your business, burst from her lips before she could hold it back. She relented at his shocked expression. Hey, sorry. It’s just not something I like to talk about. Let’s just say I overheard something that was...alarming.

He nodded. Got it. You said it. None of my business. He looked at an old Rolex on his wrist, noting the time with a grunt of surprise. Hey, well then, I’m glad you are going to be all right. I’ve got to get going. My shift is almost up.

What did you say your name was?

He slanted a faint smile her way and backed towards the door. I’ve heard you cook up a mean beef bourguignon. I’ll have to come by the restaurant sometime and try it.

And just that quick, he was gone. Seconds later, nurse Maggie came back in, a large smile creasing her face. Hey, great news. I got a hold of Juli Mason for you. She’s glad you’re awake. Said to hang tight, and she’d be by within the hour, that she has to button things up at the restaurant before she comes.

Thank you, I appreciate it. By the way, one of your volunteers came by just a few minutes ago. An older gentleman? Just visiting he said, asked me how I was doing. I didn’t think Mercy Bay was big enough to have what do you call them, candy stripers?

Bertie’s voice faded to a stop at the startled expression on Nurse Maggie’s face. What? What did I say?

Oh, no! Maybe we should have a cat scan run. Sometimes if the trauma is severe enough, it can cause patients to hallucinate... you know; see things?

What? I imagined nothing. If I was going to dream up a volunteer to visit me in bed, he wouldn’t be wrinkled and eighty, that’s for sure.

Well then, I’m not sure what you think you saw. But we don’t have anyone matching that description volunteering here. Fact is, we are a smaller facility. All major injuries and related traumas are sent to Munising. The facility there is much larger and better equipped. Only volunteer we have here is Sandy Jennings. She attends college in Munising and comes down and volunteers for a few hours on Sundays. That’s it. She brings her aging Golden Retriever, Max, with her for the kids. They love him. She continued to mutter about the potential need for further tests, but Bertie tuned her out.

Bertie lay back in the bed, mind backtracking over their conversation. She tried to remember if she’d said anything she shouldn’t and why some old fart just shy of pushing daisies was interested in anything she had to say in the first place.

CHAPTER TWO

Bertie was older than me. Maybe I should think about giving her more time off. That had to be it. I worried my lip, chewing at the soft flesh nervously as I turned onto Fae Bridge road towards my apartment. I lived over Mattie Mason’s garage. Mattie was my grandmother. The garage itself also served as my home office. Grans, as we called her for short, lived in the main house. In the seat next to me, Holly gave a whimper, her eyes on me instead of looking out the window at all the fascinations nature held for a five-month-old lab mix. I reached over and scratched her soft ears, taking comfort when she leaned into my touch.

You can’t come, baby. They don’t let pets into the hospital, and I have to see how Bertie is doing.

She gave a short woof. Probably protesting the pet comment. Holly was more than just a companion. She was my joy on bad days and my sense of humor on good when I followed her antics with delight. The puppy stage was a lot of work, but it was also wonderful. I pulled into the drive and parked. I let Holly out and waited impatiently as she did a turn around the yard before she found a suitable place to do her business. I was in and back out of my apartment in minutes. Taking just enough time to give Holly a reassuring pat and a new chewy treat that would keep her occupied for most of the time while I was gone. Usually, Grans watched her for me. But I didn’t have time to ask and her Jeep was gone anyway. I wondered if her twin sister Annabel was with her. Grams, as we called her, didn’t have a vehicle of her own, so she depended on Grans for transportation.

I hopped back in the cab of my old red Chevy truck and was on my way back towards Veil Falls and Mercy Bay Hospital. The entire trip took less than ten minutes, just enough time for me to wish Jack was with me, offering a kind smile and a muscular arm to lean on. We’d only been officially dating for a month, but it seemed like we’d known each other for much longer.

But Jack was busy, I knew. He was over at the Fae Bridge Falls with the other members of the fire department winching the dark sedan out of the Hat River, where it had bubbled to the surface in the early spring thaw. Jack hadn’t called, but had taken off straight away to help. I’d had my hands full calling an ambulance for Bertie when she suddenly fainted out of the blue and knocked her head good on the way to the floor. They’d initially determined she was in no real danger from the fainting, but they’d wanted to take her in, anyway, as a precaution and run a couple tests to make sure she was okay. I needed to check on my dear friend and Snips and Snails chef and manager. Brownie, my cousin who was also the bartender, had stayed behind to do an emergency close, ushering the remaining guests out the door and hanging a sign so our regulars knew what was going on. I hated to close so soon on a Friday, but Bertie was family, and family would always come first for me.

In the parking lot of the hospital I shivered as I exited my truck. The April air was still cool, though most of the rivers and streams were already thawing, the ice breaking up. But spring was still just hinting at the warmth to come, and as evening loomed, the temperatures dropped. I zipped my jacket closed.

I entered the hospital, moved through the lobby, and took the elevator to the third floor, stopping at the reception desk to ask the number to her room.

About time you got here. Maybe poor Maggie can get a break. Ms. Marson is being a real bear, I can tell you. She’s in room two-o-nine. You go right in, she’s been waiting impatiently, the elderly nurse chastised me. I smiled and moved down the hall.

At her room, I stood in the doorway and looked in. Bertie lay still and pale in the bed. But she wasn’t looking my way. I watched her unobserved for a minute. A bandage covered a small patch on her forehead, and her normally neat appearance looked ragged. I was briefly reminded that I’d hired her straight out of a box, when she’d been Bertie the Bag Lady, living homeless in the alley behind my restaurant.

She turned away from staring out the window to look at me, eyes darker than normal. She looked troubled, and I wondered what preyed on her mind. Other than her former, less than hygienic living conditions, I knew little about Bertie. In the ensuing months since she’d come to work for me, I’d found out in another life she’d been a talented sous chef. If the saucy dishes she prepared for our customers were any indication, she’d been a darned fine one. But I didn’t know where she was from, or where she’d gone to college. She kept her past close and hidden. And she didn’t appreciate nosy questions, no matter how well meaning. I’d wondered on more than one occasion just what secrets Bertie Marson kept from the rest of the world around her.

I came into the room, and she turned more fully in my direction. A small smile crinkled her lips.

Juli, finally. What took you so long?

Sorry. I had no one to watch Holly, so I had to drop her off at home first. I didn’t want to leave her in the truck. Too cold at night, still.

Bertie nodded. So maybe you can talk some sense into the doctor and those nurses. They all seem to have a mind that I need to stay here overnight. I’m fine, though. I mean, who on earth is going to run the restaurant with me gone?

Well, I own the place and I am a Soup Witch. I can handle it.

Bertie snorted. No, you can’t. Unless soup is all you’re serving. We need deserts and sandwiches and main dishes that keep them coming back. Besides, you go and create that many magical soups from that Grimoire and you’ll have people forgetting what they remember and wondering who their children are. Too much magic spoils the pot, you know.

I held back a grin, adding deadpan, You don’t say. But you needn’t worry, anyway. You have tomorrow off, just to make sure. And I’m way ahead of you on too many spelled recipes. I have Mick coming in to handle the kitchen for the day.

"What! Are you mad? He’s a bartender, not a chef. He isn’t even a cook... is he? What are his credentials, he’ll send the customers running when they taste his Gumbo Creole."

I frowned in confusion, she’d lost me. He makes gumbo? How do you know that’s what he’s serving?

She growled. I don’t. Keep up. I’m just saying. We don’t even know if he can cook. The man is an idiot in the kitchen, I’m sure. Probably doesn’t know one end of a stew pot from the other.

He was a line cook at a bar in St. Louis for a year, I offered.

That’s it? Surely that can’t be his only experience?

How bad can he mess it up? It’s just for one day, and Brownie and I will be there to help him.

I really think I should be there. If they release me first thing in the morning, I can probably make it before noon. Maybe if he just helps for the first hour... she wheedled.

I firmed my lips. No. You are taking the day off. Which brings me to another sore point, by the way. You need to take more time for yourself. You’re working too hard. It’s probably what made you faint. You aren’t getting enough rest.

Bertie’s expression clouded over, and she looked away, swallowing. That isn’t it. She cleared her throat. Um, Jack took off to see about getting that vehicle out of the river. A Cadillac, right?

Hmm...yeah, an XTS. Is there something you aren’t telling me here? I mean, it was right after Jack got that call that you fainted. Are the two related? I asked suspiciously.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. No. I have a childhood phobia of drowning is all. When I was a child, I fell off a boat while fishing with my parents, and they almost weren’t able to get me out in time. Swallowed a lot of water. Ever since, I’ve had a fear of not coming up. That vehicle in there like that... brought it back. Did they find anyone inside? she whispered, looking up at me finally with her heart in her eyes. My lips grew firm. She was lying to me. I was sure of it. She looked more like she had just lost her best friend, or worse. There was more, a lot more, she wasn’t telling me.

I don’t know. I came straight here. Jack is there though, along with Jacob Crawley and the police department. It was Red Argus, the antique dealer, that spotted the vehicle when he was driving by. No telling how long it’s been down there.

Bertie opened her mouth, as if to add something, before snapping it shut in frustration. You’ll tell me though, won’t you, if they find someone?

You seem awfully interested in any victims, Bertie. But fine, yes, I was heading there right after this, anyway. I want to see what they find. Maybe I can help.

Bertie should have been laughing at my suggestion that I could be of any use in place of heavy machinery and experienced firefighters. Instead, she gave an absent nod. Better go then. I’m fine here. I promise I’ll try to rest. If nothing else I can come by after I get out in the morning and maybe assist Mr. Dupree from a stool or something. You’re picking me up, right?

I nodded, moving toward the door. Sure, as soon as they release you. I wondered if I should call Mick and warn him. Bertie Marson sitting on a chair and driving from the backseat of her kitchen to one bearish mountain of a man, Mick Dupree, spelled disaster of the highest order.

I needed to make sure my phone was charged so I could take pictures.

On the way to the scene, I made a phone call to Jack. I had almost given up on him answering when he picked up, sounding out of breath. Hello?

Hey Jack, it’s me, Juli. How are things going so far?

Slow, that’s how. It’s tight down by the bridge, what with trees and bramble and such. Vehicle popped up, and promptly lodged itself beneath a mountain sized log flush against the pillar. The force of the river breaking up behind it is making it difficult to get the winch cable attached.

Maybe I can help?

Or you can stand back and watch. You aren’t getting in on this one. Let the experts handle it. I don’t want to take any chances on you getting hurt, that’s all I need to be worrying about.

I would have argued, but I wasn’t stupid. I was a Soup Witch, and I could do more than a few magic tricks to boot. But winching sedans out of rivers was definitely not on my list of qualifications. Aside from my Witchy Soups, Grans had been working with me, helping me add to the collection of spells I could perform successfully. But Jack was the firefighter, and he had the brawn as well to back it up. I thoroughly enjoyed the heft in those powerful arms on movie and popcorn night. I’d let him have this one.

Okay, fine then. I’m just turning onto Fae Bridge Road. I’ll be there in five. I promise not to get in the way, just as long as you promise not to take any stupid chances. I’m kind of fond of you.

Really? Be still my heart. Lucky for you I’m in no hurry to die just yet either. A loud shout and a crash sounded in the background, and Jack swore. The line went dead.

THINGS WERE MOVING fast when I pulled in behind the first-responder truck, making sure I was off the road enough not to block traffic. I scrambled from the cab, grabbing my gloves from the dash as an afterthought and jamming them into the pocket of my jacket. The recent melt had made the ground wet and spongy, and I swore when my sneakers sank into the wet earth, making a squelching sound as I walked. My feet were already turning numb by the time I reached the top of the bank and looked down. I should have worn my boots.

My eyes widened at the scene at the bottom of the bank, and I gulped, holding back a squeak of fear. The tow truck was sitting at the top of the hill, the braces down to hold it in place. A long steel cable as thick as my thumb snaked down the hill. I could just make out the front end of the SUV, most of it still submerged and wedged firmly beneath the trunk of a massive oak tree that had fallen in the last year. What made my heart gallop was on the other end of that coil of steel snaking into the river at the front of that car. Jack stood there, bracing himself in the muddy river against a stout branch, the end of the hook in his hand as he felt around beneath the front of the car. His face was red with strain, and he had no time to realize I was there. He was too busy making sure the roaring torrent of river water didn’t sweep him away.

My heart in my throat, I couldn’t conceal a small whimper of fear. But the roar of the river brushed that sound aside as it broiled and churned, blocks of ice tumbling along and smashing into the river bank, boulders and other fallen logs. As I watched, he lost his balance and tumbled forward. I took a step in his direction, sliding a foot down the hill before I caught myself. But Jack was quick, and he used those lumberjack arms of his to brace himself and once more secure his footing. Mouth pursed in determination, he swung the end of the cable in and beneath the churning water, finding and clipping it to the recovery hook of the XTS. Then, hand over hand, he worked his way along the cable, pulling himself free of the river’s force. On the bank, swearing and shouting, was Jacob, who gave him a forearm and wrestled Jack out of the sucking mud. From his expression, I believe Jacob agreed with me on Jack’s lack of intellect just then. Several firefighters rushed forward and helped Jack up the bank, tossing a blanket over his shoulders.

I was there when he reached the top of the grassy embankment along the road, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. I stepped in front of him, cinching the ends of the blanket closed and fussing as I grabbed his arms, and he leaned back against the end of the fire truck. Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, moronic things to do. You could have been killed.

Are you saying you’d miss me? he attempted to joke, his eyes light with excitement.

My eyes narrowed. Don’t flatter yourself. And don’t ever take a crazy chance like that again.

We had to get the winch attached somehow, and I’m the youngest and strongest... he began.

And apparently the stupidest, I finished.

No argument there, Jacob Crawley ground out, his mouth a flat line as he reached past us into the truck for more equipment.

We turned as the motor for the tow truck’s winch turned on and began to reel in the coil of thick steel. It made a rough thump when it pulled tight. Seconds later, the engine whined as it worked to pull the wreckage loose. There was a moment when we wondered if CJ’s old tow truck had the juice required to do the job. With a screech, the XTS suddenly broke free, floating on the edge of the river before the wheels touched the muddy bank and it inched forward. Water poured from the busted windows, running in a stream back down to the river as the sedan slowly climbed the bank. I realized it wasn’t black. It was actually a dark blue. It looked as if the initial crash had crumpled the right front fender, and several gouges and dents ran along the surface. As the back end broke free of the river, water poured from beneath the vehicle, from every drain hole. They continued to reel it in until it was resting on the upper bank, and CJ shut the controls down, bringing it to a halt. For several pregnant seconds, nobody moved. Over the top of the hood on the far side, I saw Lyle Turner, who doubled as both the resident medical examiner and coroner in Veil Falls, due to lack of funding to hire both. His eyes met mine, expression grim, and I gave a shiver of premonition. I wanted to know what was in that car. There was always the chance that the driver and any passengers had escaped before they drowned. There was a better chance they hadn’t.

Standing next to CJ, who had exited the tow truck's cab and turned to stare at the wreck, stood Larry Jokerbridge, chief of police. His assistant, Jerry Watson, stood at his side. Jerry had seen me, but Larry hadn’t. I wanted to keep it that way. The Chief would have wasted no time in telling me I didn’t belong there.

Almost as if an unspoken invitation had been issued, we all took a step forward, and then two, as the water continued to drain. River water ran freely over the tops of my shoes as I moved to within a couple feet of the car.

I swallowed hard as Jack spoke up, We’ve got one, in the front seat.

All eyes fell at once on the bleached tangle of human bones, laying half on and half off the front seat. The ragged remains of clothing clung to the skeleton. A tic worked in my jaw I couldn’t control when I saw the keys still in the ignition. That, even more than the skeleton, seemed so final to me. I pulled my eyes away from the front, moving up over the cracked and peeling leather, tufts of stuffing emerging in a frizzy trail from a tear in the upper seat. I took a step sideways to get a look in the back. I needed to see what was there, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The possibilities were endless, some of them too horrible to put a name to. I gave a sigh, expelling the breath I hadn’t been aware I’d been holding. There was nothing there. The seat was empty, save for the remains of a plastic cup, smashed flat. My eyes continued to move. A Cadillac XTS is a roomy vehicle, with plenty of space in front and back for a passenger’s comfort. There was plenty of legroom in the back for even the tallest of men. My eyes moved into that space on the rear floorboards, and I gave a startled squeak.

There’s two, I gasped. All eyes followed mine. A second skeleton, much like the first, was wedged between the front seat and the back where the body had probably been forced on impact with the river and trees on its way down. Whoever it was had fared no better than the first victim.

Just what do you think you’re doing here? Gawking? Where you don’t belong? I should have you arrested... Larry Jokerbridge snarled at me over the top of the wreck, finally spotting me.

Oh, give it a rest, Larry. Save your investigative skills for the victims. We don’t know what this is yet. Accident? Probably. Foul play? Do your job and find out, Jack ground out.

As little use as I had for our inept sheriff, I was equally sure that Jack had even less. Which was saying something, since Jack was one of the most even-tempered men I knew. But the Chief never failed to rub him the wrong way.

Larry, thankfully, didn’t respond. Probably because nearly everyone there had turned to stare at him, waiting for directions on where to take the investigation next. Sputtering, he finally spoke to Lyle. Turner, you’re the expert on dead guys. I’m going to turn the removal and securing of the scene over to you. We’ll treat this as a crime scene until we can establish it isn’t. That means all unauthorized civilians need to step back behind the perimeter we’ll be setting up. That should happen immediately before the press finds their way out here and stomps all over the scene. He glared at me at the mention of civilians, and I knew that dig had been intended for me. But I needed no further encouragement to step away from the two hapless victims in the wreck. I’d seen more than my share of death since arriving in Veil Falls almost eight months ago.

I wasn’t ready to go, though. I looked back at Jack as he shrugged out of the blanket, stepping up to help and do his job. His lips were tinged blue. Jack, you need to get changed before you catch pneumonia. They’re already dead, I think they can wait for you to change into dry clothes.

He gave a terse nod and angled towards the first-responder truck he’d arrived in. I knew he kept a spare set of clothes in a duffel there for just such occasions. I moved back to my own truck and got in, starting it up and cranking the heater to high. My feet felt like twin icicles. From the relative comfort of my cab, I watched as they strung tape and prepared to remove the victims. The flash of cameras and the gush of remaining river water from the car when they finally managed to wrestle the door open made me gulp. I was so much better at dealing with the living and catching the bad guys. I had no fondness for working with the remains of those that hadn’t made it. That was Lyle’s job, and he was very good at it.

It was over an hour later when Lyle looked over and caught my eye through the windshield. The bodies had been removed and zipped tight in body bags; the remains taking up a tiny portion of the space in each. The bones were such a small part of what made us what we were.

He walked my way. Good thing too. I glanced down at my gas gage; the needle was edging into the red. I’d been just about ready to have to call it a day and head back to town before I ran out of gas.

I lowered my window as he drew abreast of me. We’re just about done here, Juli. You might as well head back.

I nodded. Was just getting ready to. Can you tell me anything?

He sent me a sly smile. You know that’s against policy. I can’t tell you that there were just the two victims. That the vehicle has been down a while for them to decompose like that. I also shouldn’t tell you they were both likely male, based on the structure of the pelvic bones.

I couldn’t hide an answering smirk. Well, then. Can you also not tell me if anything was in the trunk?

No. I can’t. Darned Jaws broke, opening the last door. We’re hauling the vehicle back to CJ’s. He has another set there and we’ll know more then. All I can say is that if there’s anyone in that trunk, they didn’t make it.

I rolled my eyes. Lyle, if that’s your attempt at morgue humor, it missed the mark.

He sighed. Yeah, that’s what sweet Louisa, my wife, keeps telling me. This business? A sick sense of humor keeps you sane. I’ll let you know what we find.

I nodded. Thanks Lyle, you’re a peach.

I backed onto the road and turned the wheel in a broad U-turn headed back towards town. As I did, I reached for my phone and dialed Bertie. She answered on the first ring.

What did you find? she asked briskly.

Two bodies.

She gave a gasp, speaking before I could continue. Who were they?

I stared at the phone, confused by the utter panic in her voice. We have no way of knowing that. I’m sure they’ll be tracing the license plate and checking dental records. Men, we know that much.

There was a pause as she processed the information. And then she asked, her words a whisper. What about the trunk? Was there anything in there?

They don’t know yet. Couldn’t get it open. Lyle promised to let me know when they find out.

Thank you. Let me know when he does, all right? Her voice had dwindled to the faintest of whispers.

I will. I promise.

The sound of sniffling came down the line, right before she hung up. Was Bertie crying?

CHAPTER THREE

They released Bertie right on time at 11:30. I was surprised by their punctuality. Then again, maybe it was Bertie’s not-so-sunny disposition that made the hospital wheels spin faster for a change. I filed that useful piece of information away for a later date, in case I ever needed to get the doctor to sign me out in a hurry. By the time I arrived at 11:45, she was already waiting on a bench by the front entrance beneath the canopy, shivering and fit to be tied.

What took you so long? she snapped, moving toward the truck. I jumped out and went around to assist her. She sent me a baleful stare when I reached for the handle. Do I look like an invalid to you? I’ve got this. Get in, and let’s see if your driving is more reliable than your punctuality.

My lips firmed. There was an accident on Morrows, I had to wait for them to let us through.

Next time, go around, or were they preventing U-turns, too?

I clearly would not be winning any arguments with Bertie today.

Do you need to stop anywhere before we go back to the apartment?

Her eyes snapped with temper. Not going home. I’m going to work, where I belong.

I took a deep breath. "The restaurant is fine. Mick is handling things for today, and Brownie is helping him. But I have to get back to making my Thimble Nimble Basil Cream Pasta. I’ve had a special request from the Veil Falls Ladies’ Quilting Club. Seems their work has experienced a setback. Mrs. Potts, their chairman, thinks someone has cast a spell on the group. They keep having issues with the batting puckering and uneven stitches. They want me to cater their Friday Banquet with a soup designed to lend them supple fingers."

Bertie waved a hand in the air, brushing my words aside and snorted. Isn’t one gal on that committee that isn’t pushing seventy-five or more. Unless that spell cures arthritis, they just don’t want to call it what it is. Old-age.

Yes, well. I’m not telling them that, and you and I aren’t that young, either. If my pasta can deliver a little dose of magic to relieve the pain and shave a few years worth of carpal tunnel and swollen joints, I’m creating it.

She shrugged. It’ll probably work. This week. What about next month when it wears off and they are banging on your door again. Can’t stay young and quick forever. They need to learn to accept their lot in life.

I turned and stared at her. The wheel gave a jerk in my hand, and I swung my attention to the road and steered back into my lane. The wide-eyed stare of the elderly gentleman in the Crown-Vic coming at me let me know he was possibly glad of his depends.

What’s got you in such a snit? You got what you wanted. The hospital released you with a clean bill of health. Did Doc give you any pills to help with that attitude?

You are such a hoot. The day job? Stick to it. And as for what I want? You have no idea. Her voice faded, and she turned to glare through the passenger window at the passing scenery, everything still wet and gray from the melting snow.

"Well, you won’t tell me about that, so how can I help?"

You can’t! she suddenly hissed at me, turning to nail me with bloodshot eyes, raw with emotion.

I gulped, lapsing into silence. I did not know what to say.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Look. Best thing you can do for me is to get me back in the kitchen and working. I have a new recipe I want to try. Layered Black Forest Gateau will require my complete concentration to make. With no fewer than fifteen ingredients and three layers, it should help to get my mind straight and keep it off other things I would prefer not to think about. Have you talked to Lyle yet this morning? Have they checked that trunk?

I turned onto Drae Street, pulled up to the curb, and parked. No, and just what do you hope to find in the trunk of that Cadillac that you seem way too curious about?

Nothing would be best. That’s what I pray for. She didn’t give me a chance to respond, the passenger door opening before I cut the engine. Before I could grab my purse and open my door, she was already striding up the sidewalk and in through the front door of Snips and Snails. The thunderous scowl on her face hastened my steps. Poor Mick did not know what was heading his way.

By the time I wove my way through at least a dozen friendly customers who all wanted to stop me to chat, Bertie was already in the kitchen. Beneath the bright lighting, I thought she still looked pale.

Mick was short for Jasper Michelangelo Dupree. At first glance, one could be forgiven for assuming he’d have been much more at home on the back of some huge Harley. He easily topped six and a half feet tall and sported more tattoos than I had freckles, and thanks to my aunt on my mother’s side, I had plenty of those. His hair was a conversation piece in itself. Loose, it formed a wild forest of wiry curls that exploded from his head and jaw in all directions. He tamed it with a clever array of colorful ribbons and hair ties into a beard sporting dozens of braids and a tight man-tail tied neatly in the back. He’d helped me out when I needed a bartender to stand in for my cousin Brownie. This was the first time I’d asked if he could stand in for Bertie in the kitchen.

Yeah, I know what you’re wondering. Why not me? After all, I am a world renowned Soup Witch, right? Okay, I’m semi famous in Veil Falls at least. I create spelled soups that are delicious, nutritious, and come with the added benefit of certain magical qualities to make customers’ lives a little easier. But without my developing witchy powers and the aide of Percival, my Grimoire of spelled recipes, my cooking talent is limited. Every single recipe comes from the book I inherited from my uncle Jed, who also deeded me Snips and Snails in his will. The restaurant itself has been an icon in Veil Falls for over a 100 years. The Grimoire itself is much older, and just happens to be possessed by the spirit of the personal chef of King Arthur himself. Percival Gideon’s soul gives the Grimoire life in a spectacular and disturbing fashion. He’s also a major pain in my arse. Ours is a relationship based on mutual disrespect. I manage not to shred his pages, and he carefully conceals his lack of confidence in my ability to spell the recipes and not kill off the public.

He sat now in the middle of the long stainless steel prep table that took center stage in the kitchen of Snips and Snails. His grey eyes, blinking from a pair of slits in the aging leather cover, observed the unfolding tableau with interest. He reclined on four spindly, spider-like appendages he’d folded neatly beneath him.

Mick stood with a wooden spoon cradled in his massive hand over the stove. A tiny chef’s hat was pinned carefully in place, and a snowy white apron rode low on his hips, barely reaching around his impressive frame where he’d tied it in a neat bow in back.

An amiable sort, he’d turned with a welcoming smile to greet Bertie when she stormed through the door. By