Murder & Macarons Read online

  Murder and Macarons

  Amy Casey

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

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  Chapter 1

  Bill Collins never liked getting into squabbles with anyone, especially when the squabbles he was getting into were with the likes of Andy Carter.

  It was late at night, and it was getting cold. Uncharacteristically cold for this time of spring, anyway, in a way that reminded him of the dark days of winter. Bill didn’t so much mind the cold of winter. It was more the getting up when it was dark, leaving home to work in his recruitment company office when it was dark, then getting home when it was dark. Then spending weekends away from home on one course or another. The whole thing of not actually seeing his home in the daylight for all those weeks, all those months… it got to him. Especially because he was so garden-proud.

  He smiled as he took a deep breath of the cool air. The thought of standing in the sunshine, beer in one hand, lawnmower in the other, the smell of freshly cut grass hitting his nostrils… it was something he was looking forward to greatly. The part of the year he enjoyed the most. He used to roll his eyes whenever Lilian asked him to mow the lawn. Made out as if it was some kind of chore because he didn’t want to act like he was enjoying it too much.

  But when he was pushing that lawnmower, he was well and truly at home. He was himself.

  But then the dark memory split through his thoughts. The memory of tonight. The memory of the argument. The memory of the way Andy Carter had squared up to him like he had. It’d got to him. He’d never really been in a fight all his life. He’d managed to avoid the battles of the playground, the drunken brawls of the late teens and early twenties. He’d managed to avoid fighting with his wife, even when their marriage collapsed, or arguing with rip-off merchants. He’d lived a relatively peaceful—some would say boring—existence.

  But he wouldn’t change it for anyone, or for anything.

  And yet… the way events had played out with Andy Carter. The way he’d looked at him from afar, then walked over towards him, squared up to him… he wasn’t going to shake the fear that’d sent running through his body for quite some time.

  He looked around the small town of Goosridge. He was high up, at the Graveson Manor, which sat above the town. Everywhere looked so quiet, so sleepy. And sure, it was a sleepy little small town anyway. It wasn’t exactly buzzing at the busiest of times.

  But right now it was particularly quiet. And the main reason for that was that the bulk of the town was attending Horace and Ellie Holloway’s wedding reception.

  Horace and Ellie were a rich pair, but don’t let that make you hold things against them. They were a lovely couple, and they’d do anything for anyone. The difference between them and the majority of rich, wealthy people was that they didn’t parade their wealth about. They didn’t act any different. After all, why should they? They had a bit of extra paper in their bank. So what?

  And sure, they were holding their wedding reception at one of the most luxurious venues in the entire region. One of the places that brought real wealth into Goosridge and the surrounding small towns and villages, usually from rich outsiders.

  But they were entitled to a nice wedding. They might as well just treat themselves.

  Hell, if anyone deserved a nice wedding, it was them.

  In the background, Bill could still hear the clinking of glasses, the mumble of conversation. And it made him smile. Took him back to his own wedding with Lilian. She hadn’t been able to attend tonight. She still lived around town, and they still bumped into each other from time to time, awkward as it was. Apparently, she was ill, but truth be told, Bill couldn’t help getting the sense she was avoiding him at every opportunity. He wasn’t unhappy with the way things were for her. She seemed quite content in her peaceful existence. It was just on nights like these that Bill missed her. He wished she was here, by his side.

  Especially after what’d happened.

  Bill got a bitter taste in his mouth as a whiff of the food came pumping out of the manor. He liked his food—his belly certainly showed it—but right now there was a kind of Pavlovian response where he associated that wedding food with the moment the event had occurred.

  He remembered the way Andy Carter had pushed him up against that wall. The way he’d tightened his grip around his neck. The way Bill’s bladder felt like it was on the verge of bursting. The way that, for a second, just a second, Bill had been convinced that he was going to die.

  And then Andy had let go. He’d let go and he’d walked off.

  But he’d said the words.

  He’d said the words that would stick with Bill.

  The words that had him feeling the way he felt right now.

  He picked up his pace as he headed further down the hill. He could hear owls hooting in the trees, feel the wind brushing and whooshing strongly against him. In the corners of his eyes, he thought he saw movement—the sign of life, creeping closer and closer towards him. He regretted walking here alone. Hell, he regretted a lot of things. Coming here. Getting involved with Andy Carter at all. Yeah. That was the big mistake.

  Everyone knew what Andy Carter was like. Nobody liked him, not particularly. You didn’t earn a reputation like the one Andy Carter had for nothing.

  But still, Bill had got involved.

  He’d got caught in Andy’s web like so many people before him…

  Walked blindly into oblivion.

  He stopped then.

  He stopped because he realised something. A chill that suddenly came over him. Something that made his stomach drop to the earth.

  His jacket.

  He’d left his goddamned suit jacket.

  He went through the scenario in his mind. He could just call up tomorrow, say he’d left it there. He didn’t want to go back. Going back was the last thing he wanted to do.

  But then why should he cower in fear?

  Why should he let Andy Carter strike terror in his life?

  Why not stand his ground?

  He turned around. Looked back at the manor, took a deep breath.

  “Stuff it,” he said. “I’m not letting you scare me.”

  He swallowed a lump in his throat and headed back to the manor.

  The second he got inside, he started to regret it. The sound of laughter. The pulsing murmur of a disco somewhere in the distance.

  And the smell of the food… the smell of the food…

  He swallowed a lump in his throat and headed up the stairs. He just had to get to the cloakroom. He’d left his jacket in there with all the rest. Just in and out.
In and out.

  He walked down the corridor, further down. Beautiful chandeliers hung down from above. Antique paintings on the walls. Gold lined banisters and door handles.

  He walked further towards the cloakroom. Just had to focus. Had to avoid getting caught up. Had to…

  He stopped, then.

  He stopped because he saw something.

  One of the bedroom doors. It was ajar.

  And there was someone on the floor in there.

  He pushed the door open. Stepped inside. His first instinct was to ask them if they were okay. To call for help. Because they were clearly in a bad way.

  But then he realised two things.

  Two stark things.

  One, this person was dead.

  There was no doubt about it. He didn’t want to dwell on the details… but they weren’t here anymore.

  And there was something else.

  Something that made Bill’s heart race.

  Something that made him go dizzy, and almost lose his grip on reality.

  Because this wasn’t just any old dead person.

  This was Andy Carter.

  Someone had killed Andy Carter.

  Chapter 2

  I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Going back to an ordinary life serving novelty cupcakes and macarons—and yes, they are called “macarons” and not “macaroons”—with witchy emblems on them isn’t exactly the cause for much celebration.

  It was a Sunday morning and Witchy Delights was as quiet as ever. No, quieter in fact. I knew why it probably was. It seemed like the entire town had been at Horace and Ellie’s wedding last night. I didn’t really have an opinion on Horace and Ellie. They came across as nice, but I wasn’t sure if it was all just covering up some kind of inherent, deep-rooted snottiness. Like they were so out of touch that they were desperately trying to appear in touch… and I could see right through it.

  Didn’t need to be a witch for that to be the case.

  It was sunny outside. Goosridge looked beautiful. Sure, it hadn’t ever looked the same since the murders just over a year ago. The town had been shaken, and it would take it a long time to get to anywhere near a healing point.

  And yet, slowly but surely, life was moving on. Things were progressing. People were finding ways to step forward—as painful a step as it may be.

  I looked around at the customers in here and tried not to die of boredom. I wasn’t sure whether dying of boredom was an actual thing, but I must be the closest person to ever doing so if it wasn’t. I was about to buck a statistic, that was for sure. Like the guys in history who spontaneously combusted.

  Although now, knowing what I knew, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d just been on the wrong end of some hard magic or other.

  Most of the world’s mysteries could be explained by magic. Not the kind of answer the bulk of these conspiracy theorists wanted to hear, but the true one regardless.

  I looked around at the customers in their chairs. Bobby still working away on his laptop by the window, attacked by the glare, and me still clueless as to what he was actually working on. Then there was Joan, who was making rapid progress through her second latte of the morning. She seemed to storm through them quicker and quicker. And she always had a little chat between drinks. Always.

  And by a little chat, I mean a little talk to me about her life, about her opinions, about what she thought about whatever.

  Bundle of laughs, that was for sure.

  I just had to keep myself as composed as I could.

  Although I couldn’t stop myself biting my nails and cuticles. A nasty little habit I’d developed over the last year. I put it down to stress. Don’t let Mary catch me. Always grilled me for it. Said it’d be the death of me someday, even though that was pretty much ridiculous because when had anyone ever died from biting their bloody cuticles?

  I found myself staring out of the window as the smell of coffee crept up my nostrils. I looked across the road, over at the buildings. I saw people walking past, smiles on their faces. I kind of felt like Spider-Man in the latest movie, where he’s joined the Avengers but he’s sitting around waiting for his first role. I had my abilities. I felt like I had a higher purpose. Not that I was letting it get to my head or anything. Aside from the fact that I know damn well I’m generally amazing.

  Just kidding.

  A little bit.

  But there was a hitch, anyway. A hitch with my abilities. And it could be sourced right back to that day last year, where I’d solved the mystery of Krissy Palmer’s murder.

  I wasn’t sure why, but my magic wasn’t as strong as it used to be. It didn’t seem as focused or as consistent. Sometimes it was a breeze, but more often than not, simple tasks that I used to be able to do without any real effort—easy ones in the big spell book I’d had dumped on me by my dad when my mother had died—took real effort and resolve. And even then, they weren’t as effective as they’d once been.

  When I say I wasn’t sure why, that’s not completely honest. I mean, I’d summoned hard magic, and a lot of it. That was a pretty legitimate reason for my powers to be capped by whoever up there was doing the capping, that was for sure. Even if I was doing it in the name of protecting innocent people from dying. The system sucked, no doubt about it.

  There was another possibility too. I didn’t know how or why, but it seemed like that final burst of energy I’d felt when I’d defeated my foe had taken something out of me. I felt like it had pierced something deep in my body, and that I’d been leaking energy ever since.

  Of course, that was just hypothetical. I couldn’t really afford to speculate on the what’s and why’s.

  My magic had gone crappy. That was the hard and fast of it.

  “Hello? Ground control to Stella Storm?”

  The second I heard the voice, my stomach turned.

  Joan was standing at the counter. She had her empty latte cup in hand, and was waggling it towards me like I was her bloody pet dog or something.

  But I ran this place, so as much as I wanted to give Joan a slap, I forced a smile. “Sorry, Joan. In a world of my own.”

  “As I was saying earlier. I’m still waiting to hear back from the supermarket.”

  “Right,” I said, pouring Joan another latte. A sneaky trick, just to keep her energy levels low enough to cope with. No witchiness—just a special concoction of decaf.

  “Jobs, huh?”

  She didn’t continue. Didn’t elaborate. So all I did was smiled and nodded. “Jobs indeed.”

  “You spend your whole life waiting for one, and, you know…”

  I really didn’t know. I didn’t know what this analogy was or what Joan was even talking about.

  But the soul-destroying nature of what I did was that I had to pretend I understood her exactly.

  And that I cared.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said, handing Joan her latte.

  Her face turned. “About what?”

  I felt my cheeks flushing. I’d been caught off guard. Caught off guard by Joan. How embarrassing. “About… about what you just said.”

  Joan rolled her eyes. “Gosh, I talk so much. What was I even saying? I’ve lost my train of thought. Remind me what we were just talking about?”

  I stood there, mouth dry, dangling open. I searched my memory, delved into the little hyper-awareness I had. But my thoughts were muddy. I felt groggy, like I hadn’t slept in days.

  And then something remarkable happened.

  Something that saved my bacon.

  The door slammed open, and Pete—one of the regulars who was usually pretty reserved—threw himself inside.

  He looked around. He was panting. There was an expression on his face of excitement. But also an expression of fear.

  An expression that brought back memories…

  “What is it?” I said. “Everything okay?”

  The whole cafe was looking at Pete.

  He stood there. Caught his breath. And then he said the words that chan
ged everything.

  “It’s Andy,” he said. “Andy Carter. He’s—he’s dead. Andy Carter’s been murdered.”

  Chapter 3

  You’ll forgive me for admitting that I didn’t finish my shift at Witchy Delights that morning.

  The cafe was so quiet that I decided to leave the place in the capable hands of Joan. Sure, she was a pain, but she was reliable. So I was well and truly willing to milk her for what she was worth. I’d be sure she got paid, anyway. But I reiterate, I did not want her to get the idea that I was taking her on. Annabelle, Mary and I were enough. Except they kind of weren’t because both of them were off today. Just the way things were, sometimes.

  I found myself walking up the hill towards Graveson Manor. It was one of those buildings that people said were spectacular, but to be honest I didn’t really see it like that. It was a big grey blob sitting over Goosridge and staring down at us, all rich and judgemental. Usually it was where wealthy outsiders came and held events, where they could stand up there and say how “pretty” our town looked with that judgemental tone.

  I wouldn’t usually be heading this way. I’d been invited to Horace and Ellie’s wedding, but honestly the weddings of people I only just about knew were the least of my concerns. Much rather curl up on the sofa with a brew and watch a bit of Netflix. Or a bit of Amazon Prime. Both good services. No discrimination.

  But there was something drawing me towards this venue the day after the wedding had been held.