Free 5 Beewitched by Hannah Reed Page A

I’m not coming down with that flu that’s going around,” she said.
    “You and me both.”
    “I wasn’t supposed to work the stand today, but Al’s summer employees are young and pretty unreliable.”
    “Try to take it easy. By the way, I saw Al’s son Greg yesterday. I didn’t even recognize him, that’s how much he’s changed!”
    “Al’s grateful that he came out to help with the maze. So am I. It takes some of the pressure off.”
    After Joan gave me a gallon of cider, I did everything in my limited range of power to resist the farm’s homemade caramel apples. My mind told me that corn on the cob was better for my waistline, but when the proper, healthy me also advised against all that salt and butter that I couldn’t help adding, it lost its edge to the apples.
    They were jumbo apples, bigger than I’d ever seen anyplace else. And they were covered with so many tempting options. You could get your apple:
     
coated in either dark or white Belgian chocolate
rolled with nuts (pecans, cashews, peanuts, pistachios, walnuts, macadamias, or a mix)
covered in crushed candy (Butterfingers, Snickers, M&M’s, Oreos, toffee, or Reese’s Pieces)
and drizzled with caramel or more chocolate.
    I caved to temptation and selected a walnut cherry caramel apple, and walked slowly back toward the store carrying the cider in one hand and eating the enormous apple with the other.
    My bliss was short-lived.
    I fear I conjured up Johnny Jay. Never again will I think of that man for one second if this is what happens when I do. Now, however, there he was out in front of my store, pacing impatiently with what appeared to be . . . oh no . . . my clothes from last night, tucked in a ball under his arm. He looked tired and rumpled, as if he’d been up all night, but when he spotted me he still managed to smirk.
    The smirk disappeared quickly and was replaced with pent-up anger when Hunter pulled up in his SUV and jumped out with Ben at his side.
    Thank you, my hunk. Your timing is perfect.
    “Wallace,” the chief said to Hunter, “I’m going to tell you one more time since it doesn’t seem to be sinking into your thick skull. This is my town and my case.”
    Case? My clothes were a case? Not good.
    Hunter ignored him, came over to me, and gave me a kiss on my sticky lips. “You taste sweet,” he said, though I noticed that his usual twinkle was missing. “Did you miss me in bed?”
    “Every second,” I fibbed, although if I’d known he wasn’t there, I definitely would have missed him, and been worried sick that something had happened to him.
    “Wallace!” Johnny Jay bellowed. “I’m talking to you!”
    Hunter turned to give the chief more attention than he deserved.
    “What case is Johnny talking about?” I asked Hunter, really, really hoping it didn’t involve me or my clothes or my naked escape last night.
    “It’s Chief Jay to you, Fischer,” Johnny pointed out for something like the millionth time. “Have some respect.”
    “What did I do now?” I asked anybody who cared to answer.
    “That remains to be seen,” Johnny snarled.
    “What’s going on?” I asked Hunter specifically.
    That’s when Hunter said, “There’s been a death over at Country Delight Farm, very early this morning.”

Seven

    It wasn’t an easy matter to discover the specifics of who was dead and how and why. I put the cider down on the sidewalk—I had a feeling I’d want to watch what happened next between the two men, and the gallon jug was heavy. Hunter gave me a lopsided, here-we-go-again weak grin.
    Johnny Jay and Hunter have gone more rounds about Waukesha law enforcement territory than professional boxers. Only without the physical part, up until now at least. The city of Waukesha is Hunter’s turf, no question about it, but Waukesha County encompasses numerous towns and villages, and that’s where things get murky between the local and county cops.
    “It’s my case!” Johnny Jay snarled, as menacing as