Free Sit for a Spell (The Kitchen Witch, Book 3): (Witch Cozy Mystery series) by Morgana Best Page A

television?”
    I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I mean the television wiring. It’s an old TV. I need to get a new one.”
    I took Barbara the long way—that is, not over the hedge—to Camino’s house and knocked on the door. To my relief, Camino was home after all. I explained what had happened. I wiggled my eyebrows at Camino in an attempt to tell her to be careful.
    “Is something wrong with your eyebrows?” Camino said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t wear so much make-up, dear. You wouldn’t want your eyebrows to fall off.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not wearing any make-up,” I said through gritted teeth. Barbara had her back to me, and was bent over admiring a particularly grotesque antique. I caught Camino’s eye and jerked my head in Barbara’s direction a few times.
    “Would you like some Advil?” Camino asked me. “With a sore neck like that, you obviously need some.”
    I threw my hands into the air and left.
    Two cups of coffee and two happily fed cats later, and the world seemed good again. I still managed to get to the cake store early. Thyme was happily baking away. She was surprised when I told her that I had found Barbara in my house.
    “But she showed no ill effects from being in your house?” Thyme asked me.
    No,” I said. “But don’t forget, the house might have done that for a reason.”
    Thyme shrugged. “Anyway, Amelia, could you do the frosting on those turtle cupcakes?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “You’re getting to be a very good cake decorator,” Thyme said. “You’re certainly consistent.”
    “And I’m consistent when I bake cakes, too,” I pointed out. “I consistently set them on fire. Consistency is not always a good thing.”
    Thyme chuckled. “Consistency is good for decorating cakes, however. And I’ve been thinking.”
    “Oh no!” I said in mock horror.
    Thyme glared at me. “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say yet.”
    “I don’t need to,” I said. “Every time you think of something it ends in disaster.”
    “Name one time,” she said. “Just one!”
    I groaned. “Can anyone ever think of something when they’re put on the spot?” I asked. “But just you wait. I’ll think of all the times later and let you know.”
    “You do that,” Thyme said, laughing. “Anyway, back to what I was going to say when I was so rudely interrupted by a certain person—I’ve been thinking about the murderer.”
    “Haven’t we all?”
    Thyme straightened up and removed her apron. “You know, we could make spreadsheets and lists, and compare poison times and types of poisons, and find out where Sue was all that day, or we could just get the murderer to reveal who he or she is.”
    I was perplexed. “How on earth are we going to do that?”
    “Well, do you remember when we talked about putting a hen’s egg in each of the victim’s hands and burying the victim like that?” she asked.
    “Yes, but…” My voice trailed away as the implication set in. “Thyme, surely you’re not suggesting we do that?”
    “Why not?” she said with a big smile. “I think it’s a genius idea! All we have to do is put two eggs into Sue’s hands and make sure she’s buried with the eggs.”
    My mouth fell open. “You’re joking, right? All we have to do?”
    “It’s a brilliant idea,” Thyme said with a frown. “It’s an old hoodoo working to reveal a murderer, a time-honored way.”
    “But how on earth are we going to do that?” I asked. “Do we tell the funeral director that they’re the eggs from her favorite pet hen?”
    “Oh, what a good idea!” Thyme gleefully rubbed her hands together. “Amelia, you have the best ideas.”
    “I was joking,” I said in horror. “Surely you’re not seriously suggesting we go to a viewing and put eggs in Sue’s hands?”
    Thyme looked somewhat offended. “Well, it’s either that or waste time with spreadsheets and the like. Do you have a better idea?”
    I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “If you