Free Death of an English Muffin by Victoria Hamilton Page A

She said . . . she said
horrible
things. I can’t think what’s wrong with her.”
    “She’s a witch,” Isadore said.
    Virgil sighed and pulled a notebook out of his pocket. He read what was written, and looked over at Isadore. “Miss Openshaw, did you tell her that she should, to quote, ‘choke on her own spite and die’?”
    Isadore stared at him and slowly nodded. Rather nice wordplay, I thought: choke on her spite, rather than spit. I eyed the odd woman with a smidge more respect. I like puns.
    He sighed and closed the notebook back up. “So that is why she’s at the station now trying to file charges against you for threatening her.”
    “That was not a threat, it was a . . . a wish!” I cried, in exasperation. “And Isadore was just defending Hannah.”
    “I know,” he said, standing and stretching.
    That was an arresting sight, pardon the pun. He’s a solid fellow, and his khaki pants had gotten a little too tight in the past few months. On him, it looked good.
    “That’s why I’m going to leave it this way,” he said, both hands on the table, leaning over and meeting each of our gazes. He finished with Isadore. “Miss Openshaw, I’m issuing you a warning for harassment of Miss Sanson. This is just a warning, and not a charge. We won’t be following up on it.”
    “But she didn’t do anything wrong,” Hannah cried, as tears gathered in Isadore’s eyes.
    “This is the only way I can handle it. I will also warn Miss Sanson to stay away from the library and not to engage with you, Miss Openshaw. Other than that, my hands are tied.” He straightened and turned to me. “Merry, if you could come pick up your guest, I’d appreciate it, before she drives my officers crazy.”
    “If you ask me, you’ve already hired one officer who isn’t far from it, and I think you know who I mean.” I slammed my muffin containers around to passive-aggressively express my lack of appreciation, then followed him out. I ducked back in the door, though, and said, “Don’t worry about it, Hannah, Isadore. It’s no big deal. You both still coming to the opera?”
    Isadore shook her head, mute and tearful.
    I stepped back in. “Please, Isadore, come. Pish will be crushed if you don’t. He wants to be friends, you know.” I hesitated, then added, “You remind him of someone he oncecared for a great deal.” That was the truth. He was so involved because he once had an aunt who drifted away from the family and ended up in a bad way. He didn’t want to see that happen to Isadore, who had even fewer resources, family, and friends than his aunt.
    “I’ll think about it,” she said.
    “She’ll come,” Hannah said, tiny chin pointed up, battle-ready light in her eyes. “I’ll make sure my parents pick her up.”
    I smiled and nodded. “Good. I know the girls are looking forward to performing with you, Hannah, and I’m so anticipating it!” I stomped out the door, down the street, and strode past Virgil.
    “Hey,” he shouted.
“Hey!”
    I whirled. “Did you have to be so . . . so
mean
to Isadore?”
    “Mean? Me? I did the least I could after that battle-ax you call a guest stormed my police station and gave me no alternative. Take her home, Merry, and find a way to send her back to the city.”
    I took a deep breath. “I’d love nothing more.”
    I got my car while Virgil retrieved his, then followed him to the police station, where I picked up Cleta, who was rigid with fury, and drove her back to the castle without saying a word. Quite frankly I didn’t trust myself to speak. In my humble estimation the woman was a menace. So far it was Cleta, three points, Autumn Vale, a big fat zero.
    I deposited her in the great hall to make her own way upstairs, and took my empty muffin tubs directly into the kitchen to make lunch, a soothing cream of carrot soup. The ladies loved my soup. But it didn’t make up for the rage I struggled against whenever I thought of Cleta, and how she picked on the