Chapter Four

“I got here as fast as I could!” Almost out of breath, Tulip held her hand to her heaving chest. “It’s Mrs. Hurst. She’s gone.” Tears flowed down her reddened face, dripping off her chin.

“What? What are you talking about?” The black force-field from my earlier reading with the woman came back with a vengeance, darkening the edges of my vision.

Ace got up, took Tulip’s shoulders and directed her onto a chair. “Tell me what you saw?”

“I went over to see Mrs. Hurst, to deliver the rest of her jam—she, she didn’t answer the door. I didn’t want to leave it outside, so I went in the back door to put it on the kitchen table. I took the key from under the mat. And there she was.” She hiccupped. “Dead.” Tulip dropped her face into her hands, large sobs shaking her slender shoulders.

“Why did you take it to her tonight?” Confused, my brain sought answers. “I was going to deliver it tomorrow, properly labeled.” At least we had given it the green light of the Kismet Spell, except for that jar she’d taken earlier. That still plagued me.

She lifted her tear-stained face to me. “She called the house and left a message it was an emergency and she needed it right away. That’s why I’m late. I don’t know why she needed it so soon, but you know how she is. Oh my goodness, it was awful. Her face—it was all blue and her tongue—” Tulip shuddered and closed her eyes.

“Have you called nine-one-one?” Ace asked.

“No. I just ran straight here. I didn’t know what else to do.” Tulip shook her head, her eyes widening with more emotion. I jumped up and pulled her to me, hugging and soothing her, rubbing circles on her back.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Ace stood up. “I’ll deal with this and call it in. What’s the address?” He pulled out his phone, frowning when he discovered there was no cell service. He looked at me, a question in his eyes.

“Mrs. Hurst’s house is at edge of town on Ring Road. Huge Victorian-style white-framed house with black trim.”

He turned to leave and I gave Tulip a look. “You okay if I head over there?”

She nodded, and I handed her over to Star. I chased after the long-legged Mountie, catching him outside the door. “I’m going with you.”

I didn’t give him time to object, but climbed into the passenger seat of his white SUV with its RCMP logo, To Serve and Protect, decaled on the rear bumper and buckled myself in.

Frowning, he fired up the engine and pulled into traffic.

“I was led to believe this was a quiet little town.”

“Yeah, well, we have our moments. But murder—that almost never happens.”

“What makes you think it’s murder?” The look he gave me pinned me to the seat.

“Don’t know for sure.” I swallowed my worry. “But with what Tulip said about the state of her body, it seems possible. Turn here.” Maybe I should have said something to Mrs. Hurst about the dark energy? A terrible unease filled me at the thought that I might be partially responsible by not warning her. Nervous adrenaline rattled my body.

A few more tense blocks and he pulled up in front of the town’s only mansion. A couple of lights were burning behind the front living room drapes and in the wrought-iron sconces decorating the gingerbread-house-style entrance.

“You wait here,” Ace commanded, reaching into the back to unlock his gun from its case. He hadn’t worn it on his person, being off-duty. I grimaced. This was my town. Not his. I disembarked the police vehicle alongside him.

I shivered, the midnight air giving me instant goosebumps. Hugging my arms around myself, I strode after Ace. We marched around the side of the house, past the display of fragrant fuchsia-colored peonies in full bloom and down the path to the back door. It stood wide open, attesting to Tulip’s wild flight. A halo of light spilling from the kitchen carved out a half-circle on the ground. Crickets chirped, the night air thickening with apprehension.

Ace stopped, listening. “Stay put,” he ordered. Drawing his gun, he slipped through the doorway.

I waited all of ten seconds. When no shots rang out, I crept inside. I hadn’t spent years reading all those Agatha Christie whodunit books for naught.

I gave the room a full appraisal from left to right, spotting the two boxes of apricot jam that Tulip had delivered stacked on the countertop. An opened jar of the sweet nectar was splattered across a red placemat on the table, the glass resting on the edge, still oozing jam down onto the floor in thick gobs. My view drifted downward and I spotted a leg lying at an awkward angle on the floor near a chair. I caught Ace’s stern glance and hugged myself tighter. Ignoring him, I moved slowly around the perimeter of the table, bracing myself. Mrs. Hurst. Blue face with swollen tongue lolling out, just as Tulip had described. Oh-oh. A blue face was worrisome. An abandoned spoon lay by her side as if she’d dropped it mid-tasting. Fear chilled my heart. The poor woman didn’t deserve this ending. No one did. Her limbs were all twisted at weird angles, as if she’d gone into convulsions at the end. Awful. Disturbing. And frightening.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” Ace was in full Mountie mode.

“I know! I’m not stupid.”

His look said that statement was not proven either way. Yet.

“Wait here.” He left to go through the house—checking for intruders, I supposed. Obviously having found none, he rejoined me and set his gun aside.

Dimly aware of Ace using the house phone to call in the event to the late duty dispatcher at the detachment, I turned away, finding it an invasion of the woman’s privacy to stare any longer. I shook my head in dismay. Who or what had killed her? My heart thudded. What if she’d choked on the jam? The very idea was too horrible to contemplate, with me taking such pride in the preserves. Maybe it was something natural, like a heart attack or stroke? Because if it had been murder, there’d be a lot of suspects. The woman had managed to piss off just about everyone in the town at some point in her life.