A Very British Witch Boxed Set Page 14

  One pinch, he reminded himself.

  Cliff didn’t know what Tarquin put in his concoctions, but clearly the last one hadn’t worked as advertised. Scarlett was remembering too much about Thursday night.

  Of course, it might not be entirely Tarquin’s fault. Events had taken quite a turn, with the military investigator asking questions and stirring up trouble. Something he said must have jogged Scarlett’s memory. Cliff hoped the new dosage would do the trick.

  This was too important for sloppy mistakes.

  Eventually the barista asked him what he’d like. Cliff ordered a primo caffe latte for Scarlett and a massimo mocha latte for himself. He didn’t usually order the massimo, but he wanted to get a different size cup from Scarlett’s so that he wouldn’t mix up which one was the spiked coffee.

  The barista was a college-age girl with short auburn hair and freckles around her nose. “Is that for here or to go?” she asked.

  Cliff was about to say it was for here, but then he glanced over to see a customer picking up her coffees and saw two open-mouth ceramic cups with foam and sprinkles on top.

  His plan was to spike Scarlett’s cup with the potion he got from Tarquin. Now looking at the cups with the foam and the sprinkles, and another ceramic cup with an artistic leaf pattern poured onto it with foam, Cliff realized that he wouldn’t be able to spike one of those fancy coffees without disturbing the surface.

  He understood the solution at once: he needed to get her coffee in a to-go cup with a lid.

  “To go, please,” he said to the barista.

  “Can I have your name?”

  “Cliff.”

  As he waited for the coffees he felt the packet in his pocket again and unzipped the plastic. He glanced back to see Scarlett looking out of the large front window. She turned her head to see him and waved.

  He waved back to her.

  “Cliff,” a barista announced, setting two cardboard cups on the pick-up counter.

  He grabbed the coffees and went to side table where the napkins and sugars were kept. Cliff wasn’t sure if Scarlett was still watching him, but just in case, he blocked her view by interposing his body between her and the cups.

  He stealthily removed the lid of her cup, reached a hand into his pocket, and felt the open plastic baggie. Keeping the baggie in his pocket he stuck two fingers into it and took a pinch of Tarquin’s potion, and sprinkled it onto Scarlett’s latte.

  One pinch for eight ounces, he thought, recalling Tarquin’s instructions.

  Scarlett’s coffee was a primo latte, eleven ounces, so he added a second, smaller pinch, hoping it wasn’t too much.

  Who said magic was an exact science? he thought ruefully.

  Cliff zip-locked the plastic packet and stuffed it deeper into his pocket, then used a swizzle stick to stir it in.

  Quickly, he replaced the lid and carried the coffees over to their table.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  Cliff sat across from her, facing the window with his back to the street. “What?”

  “Trouble with the sugar, Sugar?”

  She must have been watching him. Shit.

  “Yes,” he lied. “They didn’t have the sweetener I like. I went with Stevia.”

  Scarlett took a short sip of her latte, made a pained face, then pulled the lid off her cup and set it aside. “I need to let this cool a bit.”

  Not the only thing that is too hot to handle!

  I swear Predator-Scarlett, if you don’t chill the fuck out…

  I’m soooooo chill.

  A lazy smile crossed her face.

  “You ok?” Cliff asked, looking at her concerned.

  She straightened up, and straightened her face. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

  Dammit. Way to act like a mad woman! She wanted to kick her predator-self under the table… but there were so many ways that would go wrong.

  “So,” he asked, “what’s been bothering you? Still troubled about your friend?”

  Cliff wanted to find out how much she actually remembered before she drank the spiked coffee and forgot it all again.

  Her gaze left him and wandered to the street. “No, it’s a little more than that,” she said.

  “What then?”

  “Did you hear about the body found out on Robert Johnson’s farm?”

  “No, a body? You mean a human, like a corpse.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, no. That’s terrible. What happened?”

  “The police are still investigating,” she told him, lowering her voice. “But it seems to have something to do with the RAF garrison near here.”

  “The military?”

  She nodded. “The guy who was found dead, he was apparently missing for a while. I don’t know how long, but before he died, this guy from the garrison–his name’s Tim, Tim Clarke–he’s a Flight Lieutenant. Anyway, he was investigating the disappearance of this other guy, Bill Knight, who was a writer I guess.”

  She paused, as if wondering how much she should say. Cliff could see that she needed to talk about it, so he encouraged her to open up more.

  “How do you know so much about it?” he asked.

  “This soldier, Tim–I call him Soldier Tim–he came by the shop last week, asking questions.”

  “Why you?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t just me,” she said. “He was asking around. Going door-to-door, I guess. It was just a missing persons case.”

  Cliff sensed she was holding something back. “What did you tell him?”

  Scarlett took a sip of her latte. “I said I didn’t know the guy.”

  “Is that all?”

  “What else could I say? He showed me the picture and I studied it and…” Her voice trailed off and she took another sip of the spiked coffee.

  Cliff watched her eyes, to see if the potion was starting to take its effect yet, but it was hard to tell.

  “So you only spoke to him that once, then?” he asked.

  “No, he came back in Tuesday. That was Friday. He told me about how they found the body in an old field, buried in a shallow grave. The farmer, I forgot his name now, it’s on the tip of my tongue.” She looked confused, her eyes drifting as if searching for the name. She glanced up at Cliff and gave him a thin, apologetic smile. “Well, anyway, the farmer was ploughing the field and found it buried there. Pretty crazy, huh?”

  “But why did he talk to you?”

  She furrowed her brow, looking troubled. “He thinks I might have something to do with it.”

  “But you said you never met the guy.”

  “I didn’t, only…”

  “What?”

  “Someone said they saw me somewhere with him.”

  “Somewhere?”

  “I… I can’t remember where. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because I never met the guy, the one who died.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right.”

  “There was something else. Things missing and people acting strange around me.”

  Cliff didn’t want to get her talking about Ronnie and Karl. That would only trigger more memories.

  “Your coffee’s getting cold,” he said.

  She nodded, then drank more of her coffee, in bigger gulps now, and the worry lines in her face seemed to melt away. She smiled.

  “This is really good,” she said. “I’m feeling much better talking with you like this. Thank you for listening.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” he said, smiling warmly.

  Scarlett kept talking, as if her mind had already moved on and was ready to dump the next thing that was bothering her. “It’s not really about the soldier’s investigation. It’s just everything with Amanda. Roommate problems. Friends can really get on your nerves sometimes.”

  “Oh, I know. But I’m sure you two will be able to work it out.”

  “Yes, I know.” She finished her coffee an
d dried her lips with a napkin. “You know, that really did hit the spot. I must have been in need of some caffeine.”

  Cliff finished his coffee, watching her expressions. The confusion in her face was easing to a sort of calm. The worry in her expression was receding fast, which he took as a signal that her most troubling memories were no more.

  The potion had worked.

  Scarlett checked her watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work now.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” he said.

  “Oh no, I’m fine. Finish yours. Thank you, though. For the coffee, and everything. I feel much better now.”

  She stood, and he watched her go, more relaxed, but certainly a little dazed.

  He thought this was probably the time when his cartoon self would do the Mwahahahaha cackle.

  Unfortunately, nothing about this made him feel like laughing. There was something about this girl he really liked.

  Doing this to her just felt… wrong.

  +++

  Bicester Vintners, Bicester, England

  Scarlett strode briskly down the street back to the shop. She felt happier now. Invigorated even. The coffee had given her the jolt she needed.

  Cliff had been such a good listener. She felt bad about unburdening her problems on him, but it seemed like he was there for her, showing sympathy for her feelings. The anxiety of these last few days seemed to just wash away in his presence.

  She had thought at first it was the coffee, but that was silly. It was warm and delicious, and caffeine had its own sort of magic, but it was just a cup of coffee.

  Surely…

  The thing that changed everything was Cliff. It had been too long since she’d had a man who paid that kind of attention to her. He seemed genuinely interested in her problems.

  And it wasn’t like he was trying to fix her, either, which she appreciated. Too many of the guys she’d been with thought she was some sort of problem that needed to be solved. She had her share of problems, of course, but she was fully capable of working things out for herself.

  But it was good to talk, and it was good to have someone other than Amanda to talk to, as well.

  She felt bad about Amanda now, though. The whole argument at Ronnie’s seemed so silly now. She couldn’t even remember why she was so upset. It had seemed so important in the moment, something about a wheelbarrow.

  Who cares about a wheelbarrow?

  Scarlett couldn’t understand now what had come over her. These little obsessions sometimes took hold of her, and she had to learn to let the little things go. Friendships were more important than things, and Amanda was by far the best friend she’d ever had.

  Karl was out, so Scarlett had closed the shop for her lunch break. Now she unlocked the door and flipped the hanging door sign to “open.”

  She floated through to the back room, almost as if she were Eliza Doolittle and she’d just learned how to say the ‘rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain.’ Flinging her bag down on the office chair she returned to the shop, put on some classical music and unlocked the register.

  She picked up the mystery book from cubby under the counter and opened to the bookmark. But then she just stared at the letters without reading.

  It took her a moment to realize she was thinking of Amanda.

  She remembered they’d had a fight but couldn’t recall now what it had been about.

  She felt bad and wasn’t sure why. There had been some sort of fight and it had left her feeling guilty, and she felt the urge to fix it.

  Scarlett got up again and retrieved her phone from her purse in the back and sent a text message to Amanda: “I’m sorry I was a crazy bitch. I miss you.”

  That was it, she thought. All this anxiety was about Amanda spending so much time with Ronnie. She was sleeping over at his place more and more.

  She was happy for Amanda, she really was. And maybe a little jealous too. Not of Ronnie specifically, but of losing quality time with her friend.

  Now she and Amanda had to make appointments to get together, like that night out last week. It used to be that they could decide to go out on a whim at eight o’clock at night. No planning. No dramas. They were hardly even roommates anymore.

  She guessed that niggling feeling was that she just wanted her best friend back in her life again. The way it was before.

  As she went back to reading, Scarlett kept glaring at her phone, willing it to deliver a message of her friend’s reply.

  +++

  Greggs Bakery, Bicester, England

  Amanda tried not to stare at the clock on the wall as she waited for the last customers to make up their minds. Her shift was technically over, but the elderly couple in front of her had got her attention before she could leave. Derek had ducked into the back to check on the kitchen, leaving her stuck with this dumb smile on her face and her heartbeat counting down the interminable ticking of the clock.

  It had been at least five minutes since her phone had buzzed in her pocket, but she hadn’t dared to check the text message with customers standing right in front of her. The message would have to wait.

  “Oh, they have a triple chocolate muffin!” the old lady said, pointing.

  Finally, Amanda thought.

  She reached for a protective tissue paper and pulled out the tray, ready to bag one of the last remaining triple chocolate muffins.

  The old man clucked his tongue. “Sheryl, you know you can’t have chocolate.”

  “But this isn’t chocolate,” his wife said. “It’s triple chocolate.”

  “Which is triple the trouble.”

  The lady pouted, then moved down a step to check out other items in the display case.

  Derek, where the hell are you? Amanda screamed inside her head.

  She had been on her feet for more than two hours without a break, and now she was ticking into overtime that she wasn’t going to be paid for.

  “The Sugar Strand Doughnuts are very popular,” Amanda said, feebly trying to hurry things along.

  The old lady smiled. “Well, they’re very colorful, aren’t they?”

  Her husband seemed to read the look on Amanda’s face, and so he made an executive decision. “My wife will have two of those, the Sugar Strand Doughnuts, and I’ll have one Belgian Bun.”

  “Would you like any coffee with that?” Amanda asked as she pulled the pastries off the trays and bagged them.

  “Oh no,” the man said. “Just those, please.”

  Just then, Derek stepped out from the kitchen.

  “I can ring that up,” he volunteered.

  Breathing a sigh of relief Amanda handed him the bags. “Two Sugar Strand, one Belgian.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda smiled to the old couple. “Enjoy.”

  “You too, dear,” cooed the wife.

  Amanda ducked into the back hall and headed straight into the employee restroom to wash up before leaving. She locked the door behind her and checked her messages.

  The text was from Scarlett: “I’m sorry I was a crazy bitch. I miss you”

  Amanda texted back: “It’s ok. Drinks after work?”

  She washed up, then hung up her apron on the peg in the hall.

  Scarlett’s reply came back a few seconds later. “White Hart?”

  Amanda typed as she walked down the hall. “I’ll have your usual waiting for you. Don’t be late”

  She smiled and left through the shop front door.

  All was right with the world again.

  +++

  Tarquin loitered by the window of the bakery. He sipped a cup of their cheap coffee as he watched people going in and out.

  He saw the girl exit alone. She had a cell phone in her hand, and seemed to be reading it, oblivious to everything around her.

  When she finally put the phone in her pocket and looked up, Tarquin saw her face. She kept walking across the square and turned down London Road.

  Tarquin dumped the coffee in a nearby trashcan and shuffled
off to follow her at a distance.

  Chapter Twelve

  The White Hart, Bicester, England

  Tim worked alone at a table in the White Hart pub. The low muffle of nearby conversations mixed with the sounds of background music and the irregular knocking of billiard balls.

  He sipped his pint and looked up from his laptop to watch the two old guys playing billiards on the game table in the far cubby. He’d seen them here before. They were regulars, but he hadn’t met them. Tim preferred to keep to himself, especially when there was work to be done.

  He had come here dressed in civvies, so as not to bring any unwanted attention to himself. It was his experience that whenever he dressed in uniform he got plenty of stares, particularly from women hoping he’d talk to them. Which was fine, because it was usually his option. One he avoided. Women rarely approached him directly.

  But more than anything, wearing a uniform into the pub would invariably attract one or more of the men: veterans who were more likely to approach him or buy him a pint and try to engage in war stories, real or imagined. Sometimes that was exactly what he wanted from a night out, and he would revel in the camaraderie of fellow soldiers across multiple generations. But when he came here to work, he avoided all that and dressed as a civilian.

  The place wasn’t busy yet, but it was late afternoon and patrons were beginning to get off work and head to the pub. In another hour or so the place would be packed. But for now, it was a good place to work.

  And a chance to get out of the stuffy hotel room.

  He had been sitting here for a couple hours already, and the hard wood of the chair had been slowly numbing his bum. He had his laptop out in front of him on the wooden table, reading through the unpublished notes of Bill Knight that the police department had just copied him on.

  Knight was old school. He’d jotted most of his notes in small spiral notebooks, which had been scanned to PDF files and emailed to Tim. He could read the scrawl well enough, but the words made little sense. The text was elusive and seemed to be written in a private code. Tim was sure he would make some sense of them in time. If there was sense to be made from them, that was.