Witch's Wheel Read online

  “The sisters, however they did it, set things in motion for you,” Caroline continued. “Now the rest is up to you.”

  “To do what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just think you’re supposed to find out something.”

  “So I was sent back to find out that my grandmother was murdered?”

  “Maybe. Or . . .” Caroline let the words out slowly.

  “‘Or’ what?” Teagan asked.

  “Or maybe who murdered her.”

  Their conversation ended with those words ringing in his ears, almost as loudly as the ticking sound he’d heard when he stepped into Gabrisette House the day before.

  Perhaps it had been murder. Someone in that house killed his grandmother. He let the thought swish around in his mouth, like one did with tasting a wine. And then swallowing the idea, he suddenly found the purpose to his trip back in time.

  He’d woken up late, and the time he spent with Caroline telling her he previous night’s events had taken up the entire morning. But, as Caroline had commented, his grandmother’s murder – if it were that – had already been stalled more than twenty years. And if it were true, it was time he did something about it.

  She said he should find out who did it.

  Caroline, it seemed, wasn’t just useful in the business sense - she’d even suggested who he should speak with first about his newly opened murder investigation. And as soon as he got dressed, he was going to take her up on that suggestion.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He waited in a back corner away from the early afternoon light that streamed in from the large windows, and tucked away from the people that assembled around the counter, and mingled near the upholstered chairs of the small, quaint teahouse. Sitting at the small Formica topped table, Teagan nervously fidgeted with the plastic top on his cup, his right leg shaking in anticipation.

  The place was busy, more people streaming in for a cup of tea than he’d thought for a place that competed with the Starbucks across the street, and the police station on the adjacent corner. But not one of the customers that wandered in was the person he was looking for.

  Uncle Teddy, as part of his British fancies, had introduced the place to him, and while he wasn’t fond of their menu items, it turned out to be a place that many of the people he did business with seemed to enjoy. As such, he’d had a number of cups of tea while negotiating deals. Still, dressed in a tan Armani suit, a crisp white shirt, and salmon pink tie, he was sorely out of place.

  He glanced over at the door, and waited.

  He hoped that the person he waited for would be of some help to him. Caroline’s suggestion seemed logical, and he did need to speak to someone who knew about that kind of thing.

  Murder.

  Teagan shuddered at the thought.

  It had been nice to sit and talk to Caroline, something he’d never done before. And even though he became irritated more than once with her tendency to lean toward the supernatural, he thought her advice sage. He’d wished Uncle Teddy had been around, if he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have had to be at the teahouse.

  Teddy had firsthand knowledge of the night’s events. And maybe it had been Teagan who had remembered the course of events incorrectly, and with all of his questions answered by Teddy, he might have been satisfied and not listened to Caroline or been out seeking the information from the person he was not waiting for. Uncle Teddy always had a way of helping him out in a dilemma, and giving him good advice.

  Teagan chuckled. Ha! But would he have been as understanding about calming my concerns if I told him about me time traveling after meeting witches?

  Caroline had readily believed all of his fantastical story. Even that the sisters were capable of producing enough magic to send him back in time.

  For him those sisters were an enigma. They had done something to him, imaginary or otherwise and then disappeared. Other than the mysterious phone call, he wasn’t going to be able to speak with them again for two days. Were they again giving him time?

  And if they were, time for what?

  Teagan looked down at his watch.

  Where is he?

  Teagan took a sip of his hot brew and winced. Sitting the cup down on the table, he pulled off the top, tore open another pack of the raw sugar and dumped it inside. He stirred the drink and watched the door. He should have let the two cups of coffee he’d had earlier with Caroline do.

  “Finally,” Teagan said. He ran his finger down his tie and stood watching as Detective Tony Camarary walked in and got in the line at the “Order” counter.

  Teagan stood up and grabbed his cup from the table, walking up to the front of the store he dumped it in the trash.

  “Let me get that for you,” Teagan said as he slid in next to the detective who was just reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet. “I’m sure these overpriced tea leaves are putting a hole in that Walmart wallet of yours.”

  The detective laughed. “At least it’s an honest living,” he said.

  “Honest but meager,” Teagan said handing the cashier a twenty dollar bill. “I’m thinking just the taxes I pay alone, pays your salary. That makes you beholden to me.”

  “I’m a public servant,” the detective said and held out his hand to shake Teagan’s. “I’m beholden to everybody. But seeing that you alone pay my salary, I’ll show you a little more love.”

  “Thanks, Tony,” Teagan said. “I need all the love I can get.”

  They both laughed.

  The detective was in his early fifties, but his long, black hair, and leather jacket that he always wore gave the impression of a younger man. He had on a dark gray jersey, and gray pants, and black buckskin tie-up shoes.

  “Your change, sir,” the cashier reached out her hand.

  “Keep it,” Teagan said.

  “Show off,” the detective said and walked toward the door. “Thanks for the tea.” He saluted Teagan with the cup.

  “Hold on,” Teagan said. “I need to speak with you for a minute.”

  The detective looked at his watch. “I really need to get going.”

  “Technically – since I pay your salary, I can give you permission to be a little late.”

  Tony chuckled, then hesitated. “Okay,” he said giving in. “What’s up?”

  Teagan pulled out a chair and sitting, nodded to the detective to do the same.

  Teagan, watching the detective sit and take a sip of his drink, spoke deliberately. “I wanted to talk to you about my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” the detective’s eyebrows went up.

  “I need to find out what happened to her.”

  “You don’t know what happened?” Tony frowned.

  “Of course, I know what happened,” Teagan said and shook his head. “She died. But I need to know how.”

  “I must not be following what you’re trying to say, Teagan. Because you know how.” The detective squinted his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Why do people keep asking me that?” Teagan said and then leaned over into the table, his eyes down, he let his voice go low. “I need to go over it again, okay? You know, to see if maybe . . . Perhaps . . .” He looked up at the detective. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  The detective let out a low whistle. He shook his head and looked off as if he was thinking. He took another sip of tea before he spoke.

  “Your father called me right after I made detective,” he said. “He was on his way out of the country and really didn’t have time to talk, but told me to pull the folder. You know, familiarize myself with it, and when he got back we’d talk.”

  “He did?” Teagan sat back in his chair. Surprised at the revelation.

  “Yeah. He did. And now here you are saying basically the same thing.”

  “What did he want to talk about?”

  “Well one thing he told me was that he was worried about you.”

  Teagan frowned. “He told you that?”

  “Yeah. Don’t seem so surpri
sed. We were friends of sort.”

  “Why was he worried about me?”

  “Said you’d changed. Your grandmother, he said, adored you, and he felt she had good reason. At the tender age of twelve, you were ready to take over the winery. But, he said, you had lost interest in it after her death.”

  “How did he think you could help with that?” Teagan asked puzzled.

  “He said if he could work out something in his mind, he might could help you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “To be perfectly honest,” the detective said. “I don’t either. But it’s what he said.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “About you?” Detective Camarary looked over the rim of his cup. “Nothing.”

  “Not about me. What else did he want to talk to you about? The part about my grandmother.”

  “I don’t really know for sure.” Tony took another sip of his drink. “But he did ask me to try to look at it as something other than an accident. Just like you just did. You know, to see if I could.”

  “Did you?”

  “I never got the chance because, well . . . you know, he died.”

  “And that stopped you?”

  “No, it didn’t stop me, because I never started.”

  “You didn’t start?” Teagan pulled back and stared at the detective.

  “There really wasn’t a reason to,” the detective said. “It had been ruled accidental. The case was closed and then the only person that had ever questioned it – your father – was dead. And I definitely knew I couldn’t help you. You’d turned into Mr.-Hardhead-Leave-Me-And-My-Gloom-Alone-Guy.”

  “So, my father thought it wasn’t accidental, right?” Teagan ignored Tony’s description of him. “That’s what you’re telling me, right Tony?”

  “Yeah.” Tony shrugged. “I guess that’s what I’m telling you.”

  “And then you’re telling me that you didn’t do anything about it after finding out it may be murder? I just don’t understand that.”

  “Whoa! That’s not how it went down. I didn’t . . .” Tony looked at Teagan and could see the change in his attitude. “Now look . . .” The detective sat his cup on the table and sat up straight, his face and words becoming more serious.

  “Now look?” Teagan repeated the detective’s words. “Don’t take that tone with me, okay, Tony?” Teagan said. “I’m just trying to find out what happened. Because if it wasn’t an accident, somebody back then should have figured that out. Someone other than me and my father.”

  The detective sucked on his bottom lip and took in a breath. “I flipped through the folder after I found out he died, okay? Thought maybe, as a favor, I would pick up the case, but-”

  “Yeah? What did you see?”

  “Nothing. Nothing that would make me think I needed to try and get the case reopened. I mean, all that was in there was what had been in all the newspapers. A wine rack fell on her. One of the bottles broke and punctured her heart.” He picked up his cup and took another sip.

  Teagan winced at Tony’s callous use of words. He shook it off. “So . . . What?” he said. “Now the police are doing their investigations based on newspaper articles?”

  Detective Camarary placed his cup on the table and looked at Teagan.

  “Don’t give me that look, Tony,” Teagan said.

  “Now you want to tell me how to speak and how to look at you? You really do think you pay my salary, huh?”

  “No. I mean, I probably do, but that’s not what I mean.” Teagan folded his hands together and looked down at them. “Tony I just want to know what you found out that wasn’t in that folder.”

  “What does that mean?” the detective asked.

  “From your investigation. From my father.” Teagan said.

  “I told you, I didn’t investigate anything.”

  “Well then from my father.” Teagan said. “He wasn’t there when it happened and he never got any further into the house that night before her death than the parlor off of the foyer. But evidently there was something that made him think something different than what the police and the coroner concluded. What was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Teagan leaned in so quickly across the table that it made the detective move back in his chair. “What was it, Tony?” he said the vein in his temple pulsating, his jaw tight. “I know there was something and I want to know what it is.”

  “There wasn’t.”

  “What did he say?” Teagan blew out a breath. “At least tell me what he said.”

  “I don’t know, Teagan.” He stared off, his eyes flittered back and forth like he was trying to remember. “Something about the bolts in the floor.” He shook his head and hunched his shoulders. “He said that he’d had a contractor over to remodel.”

  “And?” Teagan asked.

  “Nothing.” Detective Camarary held up his hands. “That’s all he said.”

  “It couldn’t be,” Teagan said. “Think. Tell me everything he said.”

  “He said that he’d been remodeling the place getting ready to sell it.” The detective spoke slowly as if the memories were coming back to him. “Yeah. He said that the contractor he’d hired had said something about some bolts and he wondered if I could go and pull the report to see if they were mentioned in there. And to see if maybe I could read it as anything other than an accident.”

  “Who was the contractor?” Teagan asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did the report mention bolts.”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Well what was it about bolts that made him call you?”

  Detective Camarary shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Teagan left the teahouse with a motivation he hadn’t had when he’d walked into it. He needed to find a killer.

  He pointed the fob at his mineral gray BMW 328i GT and clicked it, unlocking the door. He sat behind the steering wheel and sighed.

  He didn’t know where to start. What he should do? He’d talked to the police detective, who’d done nothing but frustrate him, so now who should he see next?

  And what should he say to them?

  Do you know who murdered my grandmother?

  He grimaced at the thought. Perhaps trying to initiate a murder investigation wasn’t as easy as Caroline had convinced him it would be. And why he let her talk her into it, was even more of a puzzler.

  The truth of the matter was that he needed to know. It was, he realized, the only way he could try to become the man his grandmother wanted him to be. Her sudden death, and the uncertainty it’d brought him, had molded him into something he didn’t want to be either. And bringing his grandmother’s murderer to justice, would be the kick start he needed to get back to the man he was supposed to be.

  Yes. Olivia Grafton-Bales had been murdered.

  Caroline thought it murder, but more importantly so had his father. And now he was on board with the idea, too. Plus, the sisters did say they sent him back for a reason. What was it Libby had said? He would know the reason when the time was right.

  The discussion with Detective Tony Camarary made Teagan feel that he knew what it was he was supposed to do.

  The time was right. He needed to solve a murder.

  So first thing, he decided, he needed to find out what people remembered, and what was so interesting about those bolts that his father would want his grandmother’s accidental death case reopened as a murder investigation.

  Teagan wished he already had that police folder, he could read who was interviewed and what they’d seen. Maybe that would give him somewhere to start.

  Who can I ask about that night? Ask about my grandmother?

  His Uncle Teddy picked a bad time to go out of range. It was something he did often. He liked being off the grid, whatever that meant. And what he did, Teagan wasn’t always sure. This time is was fishing . . . Teagan would have to wait until he got back, or at least in clo
se proximity of a cell tower.

  So, I’ll have to move Uncle Teddy to the bottom of my list . . .

  Then Teagan considered Yvonne Giordano. She and his grandmother, even though he knew his father never liked her, were good friends. She could probably give insight on who disliked his grandmother well enough to kill her.

  Kill her . . .

  Whew! Teagan was going to rewire all of his “accident” memories to figure in murder.

  But Teagan decided against talking to Yvonne Giordano because he wasn’t sure what had happened the night before. Did he see her? Had they talked about the sale of the property? He shook his head. Talking to her, without knowing what happened the night before would be awkward.

  And maybe he wasn’t keen on selling the property at all anymore. Just maybe he’d keep it . . .

  Then Timothy Morrison popped in his head.

  Pastor Tim had known his grandmother for years. Worked with her on a number of projects and even had what Teagan considered a friendship. He was there that night.

  Teagan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Caroline.

  “Hey,” he said when she picked up, now feeling more comfortable with her than he ever had.

  “Hey?” she said as a question more than a salutations.

  “Pastor Tim’s number. Text it to me.”

  Caroline got quiet, he could hear her breathing over the phone. “Okay,” she said. “I just sent it.”

  Teagan heard his phone beep. “Okay. I got it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Teagan hung up from Caroline and clicked on the number in his messages that she’d sent.

  “Pastor Tim? This is Teagan Bales. How are you?” Teagan said after Timothy Morrison picked up.

  “Teagan! Well, I see you last night, and talk to you today. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I wanted to come by and talk to you,” Teagan said. “Do you have any time to talk?”

  “When?”

  “Now,” Teagan said matter-of-factly.

  “Sure, Teagan,” Pastor Tim said. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “I’ll come to you,” Teagan said.