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

years ago, Carly, and yet do I have a ring on my finger? I am a man long-suffering. A man aggrieved. A man who—”
    Roly and Poly ran into the kitchen and proceeded to flop at my feet and roll back and forth.
    They were aptly named.
    I sat on the plywood floor and gave the two cats belly rubs—something most cats didn’t care for but mine loved. Usually they came to work with me every day, but I couldn’t very well take them this morning, when I was on the run from a mob.
    “Daddy,” I interrupted before he launched into a full-blown soliloquy. Augustus Hartwell had been waiting four decades for my mama to marry him and there was still no wedding date in sight. My mama didn’t believe in marriage, but my daddy, a hopeless romantic, still hadn’t given up hope of getting a wedding band on her finger.
    “She’s going to send me to an early grave.”
    Despite knowing better, I asked, “What does she have planned?”
    “I’m not sure, but she’s plotting something to compete with Johnny Braxton’s country-music, weekend-wedding extravaganza. All I know is that Johnny’s making himself up to look like Johnny Cash,” my father said, “and is having a karaoke-party weekend, so I can only imagine what your mama will do.”
    Pain was beginning to pulse behind my left eye, and I wished I had some white-willow bark, which was great for getting rid of headaches, at home instead of only at my shop.
    Fluffy Roly, who was mostly white with a light gray head and tail, nudged her face into my hand and looked at me with bright green eyes. Chubby Poly, who had medium-length dark gray fur with patches of muted orange on his face, hopped up on the counter. He glanced at me with his big amber-colored eyes, then stared longingly at the treat canister.
    I didn’t need to tap into his energy to know what he was thinking. Poly was always hungry.
    “We don’t have a lot of time,” Daddy said, “and with me being out of town, I need your help talking your mama out of any potential plans.”
    I nearly laughed. “No one has the ability to talk Mama out of anything.”
    My father breathed out a long sigh, the kind only a man who’d lived with my mother for thirty years could produce. “Kidnap her or something. We don’t need to borrow any more trouble from Johnny.”
    It was true—we didn’t. The Hartwell/Braxton feud rivaled the Hatfields and McCoys. The thing was, Daddy wasn’t kidding about the kidnapping.
    “Daddy, I don’t think—”
    A knock sounded on the front door and my head snapped up. The townsfolk couldn’t possibly be here already. I’d told them four o’clock. . . . Usually they respected my wishes on the rare times I had to work from home.
    Another knock, this time louder.
    “Think what?” he asked.
    “I have to go, Daddy. Someone’s at the door.”
    “But your mama . . . We have to stop her.”
    “I’ll have to call you back,” I said, and hung up.
    I dislodged Roly from my lap, and before Poly knocked the whole canister off the counter I gave both a treat.
    A slight breeze billowed the white sheers in the living room. Thankfully, the big windows were shaded by the trees, or else the place would have been truly stifling. Ceiling fans lazily stirred the hot air; the air-conditioning hadn’t worked since I’d bought the place.
    Construction debris was scattered across the room. Moving boxes, furniture covered in old sheets, boxes of nails, screws, and tubs of wall putty. Rolls of insulation, stacks of drywall, and reclaimed pine floorboards took up one side of the large space. It was a dusty mess—and the sad fact was that the whole house looked the same. Every single room was undergoing a transformation.
    A shadowy figure lurked behind the leaded glass in the old oak door. Creaky hinges squealed as I pulled open the door. My eyes widened when I saw my visitor. “You again?”
    “Don’t look so shocked,” he said.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked, holding on to my locket.
    Dylan