Free Midsummer Night's Mayhem by Lauren Quick

romantic romp like no other.”
    “What are your plans for the rest of the day? Any more amateur sleuthing going on?” he asked.
    “I need to figure out what to do next.” She twisted up her lips and fingered the edge of the novel. How could my persuasion help me solve this case? Inspiration striking, she jumped up and sent the swing and Derek careening toward the porch rail.
    Clover headed to the library. She grabbed a piece of parchment, a tiny bottle of ink, and a reed pen from the desk drawer. Spinning a story spell was practically second nature to her. She cleared her mind and imagined her characters moving forward through a story, and then a pulse of magical energy flowed through her mind, a thread of possibilities moving in different directions. She decided which threads to chase and dodged the twists and turns, being pulled along for the ride.
    With the inky pen poised over the page, she imagined Oliver at the solstice party. He just stood there looking grumpy, stinging anyone who got too close to him with his gold ring. She couldn’t picture him chowing down on food or tossing back a few beers. Dancing was out of the question. A blob of ink fell to the page.
    “I’ve got nothing. I can’t picture him doing anything but snooping around,” she said, blowing a rogue curl out of her face. “Honestly, besides snooping, I don’t know why he even came.”
    “I don’t remember seeing him at all,” Derek said, standing in the doorway. “He didn’t come for food and fun. Maybe he’s lonely, living by himself.”
    “Maybe he came to see someone?” Clover was stumped.
    “You need another angle. Try focusing on a clue.”
    “You’re right. I don’t know Oliver, so all I can do is follow the one thing we know for sure—the poison.” A burst of renewed energy filled her.
    He rubbed his hands together. “Great. Where are we headed?”
    “I’m going on an errand all on my own. You’re taking the rest of the day off to relax and have some fun. You deserve a day off.”
    A bright yellow bicycle with a woven basket was parked in the shed. Clover had nicknamed her favorite mode of transportation Marigold and over the years the two of them had ridden all over the Meadowlands. After changing into some comfortable clothes and gathering up some clippings from her garden, Clover rode Marigold down the hill and across the village. She coasted by the orchards of Gwen and Grady Winter’s Sugar Snap Farms, which interestingly enough had numerous strange white tarps draped over sections of plants.
    Next Clover cut across a patchwork of fields and biked down to a picturesque stream where a thatched-roof cottage sat. Local herbalist and medicine witch extraordinaire, Tabitha Rosewood, had been running The Wild Rose Apothecary for decades and was the go-to witch for herbal remedies in the area.
    A divinely rich fragrance enveloped Clover when she entered the shop, reminding her a little of her sister’s potion shop. The windows were open wide and vases brimming with wildflowers covered every table. Bunches of sunflowers, roses, and cornflowers, just to name a few, dangled overhead to dry. The shelves were crammed with glass jars filled with herbs for every use imaginable, but Tabitha was a healer at heart and many of her customers came for medicinal herbs.
    Clover resisted the urge to browse the shop and went directly to the counter. There was a customer in front of her in line—a witch in the hag stage of life with fingers bent with arthritis. Tabitha poured a dried mixture into a glass jar, slipped it into a pouch, and handed it to the witch. “Soak this in warm milk and apply it nightly to the joints,” Tabitha said, her voice filled with compassion. She unrolled a small parchment and wrote down a series of runes. “Chant this spell three times and you’ll be right as rain in the morning.” Pale white runes marked the back of Tabitha’s hands and another series edged her hairline, the earth magic symbols giving