Free A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery by Heather Blake Page B

business.”
    “Actually,” Dylan said, “we don’t know how Nelson died yet.”
    Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. “What do you mean, you don’t know? His head was cracked open like a ripe watermelon.”
    “Oh, great,” Ainsley said, sighing heavily. “I’m never going to be able to eat watermelon again.”
    “It wasn’t
that
cracked,” Dylan said. “The autopsy and toxicology will tell us more.”
    “How long’s that going to take?” Would I have a shred of a reputation left?
    “Not sure. Days. Weeks. Depends.”
    I bit my thumbnail. This wasn’t the news I wanted to hear. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but I don’t think that bottle belonged to Nelson, the one he had in his hand when he was found.”
    “How do you know?” he asked. “I thought you said you weren’t sure if he was a customer.”
    I explained about the color discrepancy with the bottle being violet and all, and, to his credit, he said he’d look into it. Probably to make up for doubting my witchy senses earlier.
    “Now that we’ve got that cleared up,” Dylan said, “are you two ready to tell me what y’all are doing here?”
    “Well . . . ,” Ainsley finally said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead. “It’s like this. Carly’s witchy senses were acting up, so we came over to the shop to see why. And luckily we did, because this here door’s wide open. Look for yourself.”
    Dylan leaned around me and looked. He straightened, all business. “And you didn’t open it?”
    “It was like this when we got here,” Ainsley said. “Well, except for I might have pushed it open a little more with my toe.” She wiggled her piggies.
    Dylan shot me a look. “You didn’t open it?”
    “No, I don’t even have my keys. They’re in my purse, which is still in the shop.” A fact that I hadn’t thought too much about until right that moment.
    His eyes shifted to Ainsley, scrutinizing her.
    Hands on hips, she said, “Don’t be looking at me that way, Dylan Jackson. I don’t have my keys, either. I lost them a couple of days ago.”
    Now it was my turn to stare at her.
    She said, “What? I told you about that.”
    She had. I’d forgotten all about it.
    “When was this exactly?” Dylan asked.
    “Wednesday,” she said. “Why?”
    Then she looked at me, then at the door, then back at me and said, “Uh-uhn. No way.”
    “There was no forced entry,” Dylan said. “Where’d you lose your keys?”
    “That’s the crazy thing,” she said. “I don’t know. I’d walked to a couple places that afternoon. The pharmacy, the library, the bakery to order the boys’ birthday cake, over to Johnny Braxton’s place to drop off the payment for renting the party room at the Silo for the boys’ birthday, over to Emmylou’s Café to check the catering menu, and then to Carly’s house to pick up my paycheck so my check to Johnny wouldn’t bounce, and then I stayed and had a cup of tea with Carly, Mr. Dunwoody, and the Odd Ducks. Then I went home. The next morning, I went to drive to the grocery and my keys were gone from my purse. I backtracked to all those places I went to, but no one had seen them. I had to change my locks.” She glanced at me. “Not that we ever lock the doors at the house, but it made Carter feel better.”
    She and Carter lived in the hundred-year-old rectory on the church property. I’d never told her, but the old place gave me the heebies.
    Dylan’s eyes had glazed over during part of that rundown, but he snapped to when she finished up. “But you had the keys at some point that day for sure?”
    “My library card is on my keychain, and I checked out two books and three videos. You can’t be thinking someone stole my keys. That’s crazy. I’m always keeping an eye on my pocketbook.”
    “Where is it now?” Dylan asked.
    Ainsley had the grace to blush. “Sitting on Carly’s front steps.”
    I held back a smile, afraid she might give me a good shove if I started laughing.
    Dylan