Moore

CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE

"Mom's bedroom."

Their blue eyes widened. 

"I thought it was time to clean it out," I said. 

"We should do that together," said April.

"Yeah," added May. "Together."

I nodded. "You're right." I took the letter from May and returned it to my back pocket. "I did a calendar spell on it. Doug wrote the note to Mom on the day they were killed."

The twins stared at me with opened mouths. Their shock paralleled mine. Like me, they'd never considered the idea that Mom might be innocent. I don't think our acceptance of the murder-suicide theory reflected poorly on us. I suppose it was an indictment of my mother's personality and behaviors. 

Finally, April said, "You don't think she's guilty." Her voice was filled with trepidation. 

"I think there's a chance she's innocent." Truth was, the longer I thought about it the more certain I felt Mom hadn't used black magic at all. She hadn't gone to the grove intending to die. But whoever had ended her life and Doug's had created one horrible, ugly spell. They'd suffered. Both of them. 

"If she didn't do it," said May, "then who did?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I'm going to ask Rane to look into their deaths."

"Rane?" The twins said together. 

"The new sheriff. I just told you about him." Did I need to mention he had two brothers? Nope. Not the time. 

In tandem, they crossed their arms and stared at me. 

"First name basis already?" asked April.

There was no point in trying to keep anything from them. They could ferret out my secrets faster than Grumbler could eat belladonna. "He might've… um, asked me out on a date."

Their double gasp made me flinch. Before they could launch into a full-scale interrogation, we heard ring, ring, ring, ring, riiiiiiiiing. 

I looked at them questioningly. "What is that?"

"We gave Mrs. Moore a bell," said April.

"More like she demanded we give her one," said May. 

"I'll go." 

"Thanks," my sisters said, obviously relieved. I was, too, because I wasn't ready to face the sisterly inquisition about my potential date with Rane. Not that I would escape the eventual grilling. 

I headed upstairs and walked into Mrs. Moore's bedroom. Her nightstand had been cleaned off and a trash can put next to the bed.

She had a mountain of pillows behind her and new blankets arranged over her thin form. My sisters might grumble and grouse about taking care of Mrs. Moore, but I could see their compassion in how they'd tended to their irritating patient. 

Mrs. Moore frowned at me. "What are you doing here?"

 "Dropped by to see if I needed to start making funeral arrangements." 

Amusement flashed in her gaze. "Too bad for you I'm still breathing."

"Well, there's always tomorrow."

A rusty chuckle burst from her, followed the barest of smiles. Harold, who was curled next to the elderly woman, lifted his head and yipped at me. 

Just like I was the only one who could understand Grumbler's meows, Mrs. Moore was the only witch who could interpret Harold's barks. "What did he say?" I asked.

"He says you look like dog crap." 

"Gee. Thanks, Harold."

He responded by lowering his head and closing his eyes. I guess insulting me was tiring work. 

Mrs. Moore looked me up and down. "You get off early from work?"

"Early and permanently," I said.

"Permanently, huh? You quit?"

"Nope. Got fired."

"Humph. You shouldn't be working at that factory anyway. I thought you were trying to get the apothecary open again."

"How'd you know that?"

"I got eyes. I see you working out there."

"Then you probably noticed the lack of customers."

"Bunch of morons in this town." She shook her head. "Every witch worth her magic knows the Willowstones grow the best plants and herbs for spellwork."

I pressed a hand against my chest in mock horror. "Who are you? And what have you done with the cranky senior citizen who used to live here?"

She crossed her arms and eyed me. "Picking on a poor, old lady—you should be ashamed, Cassandra." She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile, though she couldn't quite dim the sparkle in her eyes. "You still thinking about going to that coven meeting tonight?"

"Yes." I hesitated. The Moores had lived next to the Willowstones since forever. After all, both were founding families of the town.

I wondered how much Mrs. Moore knew about my family. Funny. It had never occurred to me that she might have all kinds of information.

Then again, it wasn't like we'd ever had a real conversation. Most of our interactions had been yelling at each other over the fence. 

"How well did you know my mother?"

She folded her hands together. "I watched her grow up, same as you girls. Your grandmother was one of my dearest friends."

"She was?" This was news to me. I pulled the rocking chair in from the balcony and pushed it close to the bed. As I sat down, I said, "Mom had us convinced you'd make stew out of us if we ever got near your house."

"I would not," she said, offended. "Everyone knows little girls taste better in pies."

"Uh-huh," I said. "I think you're full of it."

"Ha." She picked at the blanket. "Your mom and I used to be friends. But not long after Delia's parents passed away, we argued about—" Mrs. Moore stopped herself. "Well, that's neither here nor there. She refused to speak another word to me after that." She looked at me, her expression enigmatic. "Your mother was… complicated. She was still in college when your grandparents died in a car accident."

"They were traveling in Europe," I said. "At least that's what Mom told us whenever we'd ask about them."

Mrs. Moore cast her gaze onto her hands. "Beth always wanted to see Paris, so Herb took her for her fiftieth birthday. Two days later, a delivery truck smashed into their rental car."

She sighed.

"Delia was devastated. Losing her parents like that, well, it would be hard on anyone, but for your mother… it was a thousand times worse. Delia was a delicate soul, Cassandra. She bruised easy. Part of that was Beth's fault, I think. She spent too much time trying to protect her daughter from the world's cruelties. Fact is, steel is forged in fire. Strength of character comes from suffering and sacrifice. Pain is an effective teacher." She nodded at me. "But you and your sisters know that."