A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery Read Free Page B

magic.”
    “
I
didn’t kill him!”
    “He had one of your potion bottles in his hand,” she pointed out. “And your aunt Marjie tried to shoot him last week. Obviously, you have motive.”
    I winced. Marjie
had
scared Nelson out of her yard the week before. “It was a warning shot,” I said weakly. “And her motive isn’t
my
motive.”
    “But family is family.” She shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
    “Well, stop sayin’.”
    “Touchy.”
    If only there were a potion that would make Delia keep her opinions to herself, like sudden muteness. But I knew there wasn’t. I didn’t even have to check the grimoire to see if there was anything close. I supposed I could conjure a hex to use on her—I did have the ability. But I’d always chosen to reject my voodoo heritage and never use harmful spells.
    It might be time to rethink that particular principle.
    A uniformed deputy came down the back hallway and eyed me warily. I cringed as he headed for my wall of potion bottles. Floor to ceiling, narrow black shelving held a variety of faceted glass bottles of every jewel tone—it was a stunning, eye-popping, colorful sight that made customers’ jaws drop in awe.
    My bottles were custom ordered from a glass blower who had a studio on the outskirts of town. Each was a piece of art. There was no doubt that the violet-hued bottle Nelson held was one of my own.
    But how had he gotten hold of it? I couldn’t remember ever selling a potion to him—and a quick look at the wall of bottles revealed none were missing. I needed to check with my two part-time employees—my father and my best friend, Ainsley—to see whether they’d ever sold him a potion.
    Plus, it was strange the bottle was violet. I divided potion bottle colors by gender. Men received blues, greens, and yellows, and women purples, pinks, and oranges. Red was used solely for love potions and it was the only color reserved for both genders.
    Because the bottle was violet, the potion within couldn’t have possibly been made for him. But as I’d made hundreds of potions with that color bottle, there was no way I could pinpoint who it had once belonged to.
    Biting my nail, I turned my back on the deputy removing the bottles from the shelves. I understood why it had to be done, but I hated strangers touching my things.
    I jumped when Delia’s dog licked my elbow. Cautiously, I patted his head.
    “What’s his name?” I asked, desperate for any topic that would help me forget about the deputies traipsing through my shop.
    I expected an answer like Lucifer or El Diablo, and was quite surprised when Delia said, “Boo.”
    “As in Boo Radley?”
    We were in Alabama, after all, home of
To Kill a Mockingbird
.
    “No, Carly, not Boo
Radley
,” she said as if I’d insulted her. “Boo
Berry
.”
    “Like the cereal?”
    “Yes. Boo for short,” she said, patting his head. He swiped her hand with his little pink tongue.
    I couldn’t help from asking. “Why?”
    “Were you expecting something like Satan?” she asked, her right eyebrow arched severely.
    “Not at all,” I lied, trying to look innocent. “Just curious.”
    “The first day I brought him home he climbed on the kitchen table and crawled into my Boo Berry box. He managed to eat most of the little marshmallows before I found him.”
    “You eat Boo Berry?”
    I had pictured Delia having pints of blood for breakfast, raw steaks, small children—that sort of thing. The whole Boo Berry image was going to take a while to get used to.
    Her other eyebrow rose sharply. “You don’t?”
    “I’m more of a Count Chocula girl.”
    Suddenly, I felt a subtle shift in the air, an intangible awareness. Senses heightened, my skin tingled—my witchy senses at work. Danger was near—a danger I knew all too well. I didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind me.
    “I knew these potions of yours would get you in trouble one day,” he said.
    I could hear the smile in his voice and knew one