Potions and Notions: Seasons of Gasper's Cove 2023, #3

By Barbara Emodi

Colleen's mother and the tea party ladies at Seaview Manor in Gasper's Cove have secrets to keep. When the ladies start talking witches, right before Halloween, Colleen begins to worry. Unsettled by an explosive death in the community, and the reappearance of a black cat called Maybelline, Colleen knows she has no choice but to use the tea party's potions and notions to restore order. How else will she ensure that justice is served and still get her grandchildren around the block to trick-or-treat in time? The pressure's on, the moon is rising, and all Colleen has to work with is a jar full of buttons and memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Emodi
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224650996

Barbara Emodi

Barbara Emodi lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada with her husband, and near her daughter and three of her grandchildren, She also has sons and their families in Berkeley, California and Austin, Texas and is just at home in those cities too. Barbara has worked as a journalist, a public relations prof., a political communicator, and a commentator on radio. She makes all her own clothes and has published two books on sewing. These days Barbara writes cozy mysteries for people who make things. She writes about what she knows and a few things she has suspected. To keep in touch with her upcoming releases, and for more stories of Barbara's life and world, sign up for her reader newsletter 

Book preview

Chapter one

T he thing is, who’s next?

Colleen knew where this conversation was going. Once again, death was on the agenda.

You’re right. We’re at two, aren’t we? Bernadette said, looking over the floral rim of her china cup. It was Wednesday afternoon in a corner of the deserted dining room of Seaview Manor. She was happy when her daughter joined her friends at their weekly tea party.

Here we go, Colleen thought. Death comes in threes. They all believed it. Colleen settled in to listen. She raised her own cup. The aroma, sharp but soothing, caught her off guard. This was no ordinary tea. She took a sip. There was something familiar about the taste, but she couldn’t place it. 

What is this? Colleen asked.

At the other end of the table, Joyce Evans answered, Nothing special, just a little extra sage, she said. Sage is for wisdom. That’s where the name comes from.

A different tea every week, Colleen’s mother said to her, putting an oatcake on her plate. But I want to know. Apart from Paddy Kelly on the second floor, who else passed?

Bobby, you know Mac’s Border Collie, Minnie Weekes said. Min was well-informed and well-dressed. Today, she had a new perm in her lavender hair and a necklace with button earrings to match.

Oh no, Colleen said. She remembered the collie, a classic tricolor. But he was old, wasn’t he?

Joyce looked up. Seventeen. Practically unheard of for a dog that size. He was getting lame, she added. Joyce had sewn gold buttons onto her shirt.  Colleen had a vague memory of Joyce’s tearoom off Front Street in Gasper’s Cove, attached to her small alterations business. Colleen wondered if these tea parties at the Manor were Joyce’s idea.

What happened? Colleen asked. He was a lovely dog.

He was looking out the window and saw a cat. He was the only dog I knew who could herd cats, Bernadette said, chuckling. The cat looked back at him, and Bobby keeled over right there. He died of the excitement in less than a minute. Fell off the couch, took the afghan with him.

Poor old boy, Minnie said. At least he went in his own home.

A blessing, wasn’t it? Bernadette mused. Who do we think is next?

Colleen felt uneasy. This was nonsense. And it didn’t seem to her to be healthy talk for women at the end of their own lives.

Come on ladies, what are you? A coven? she teased, hoping to divert the conversation.

The tea party seniors glanced at each other.

What exactly do you mean by coven? her mother asked.

Witches, Colleen explained. She looked at the paper silhouettes of pumpkins taped to the walls of the dining room, like at Halloween.

Bernadette paused as if waiting for permission to speak. A few of the women moved their heads very slightly. Why not? They seemed to agree. After all, Colleen, in her sixties, would be one of them soon.

Be careful about what you say about witches, Bernadette told her daughter. In the old days, every community had one.

Come on Mom, Colleen protested. Those were old wives’ tales. Immediately, she wished she could take her words back. Here she was, sitting in a circle of old wives. Witches weren’t real, she added, trying to recover. Colleen was a practical person and proud of it.

The women ignored her.

Don’t be so sure about that, Joyce said tartly. Witches came over on the boats from Scotland with everyone else. They were needed. Someone had to enforce the rules.

The rules? Colleen asked. Her mother and her friends, she decided, were losing touch with reality.

Hard times, her mother explained. Everyone had to be decent, pull together. It was important that her daughter understood how life was then. If you didn’t, it would get back to the witch. Things would happen.

One of the ladies, Annie something, had