A Broom With a View (15 page)

AT THE
beginning of the day, Liza’s soft gray, wool dress had been comfortable and warm. Her black leather boots had felt like butter on her feet, the spiked heels giving her an extra inch or two that made her preen. Her makeup, all her favorite shades from Clinique, was impeccable. Her hair was smartly straightened with the best straightener she could (okay, her ex-husband could) afford for Christmas, and her silky underwear felt heavenly against her skin.

By closing time she was a hot, tired, itchy mess with sweat stains under her arms and frazzled hair. Her mascara was clumping on the top and running on the bottom and her plumb-colored lipstick stained her top row of teeth. She had a wedgie from hell and her bra straps kept sliding down her arms.

And her feet were
killing
her.

“I will not wear tennis shoes. I will not wear orthopedic shoes,” she swore as she leaned back on the settee, one of the few things that hadn’t been destroyed, and rubbed a balm onto her toes and then sighed with audible relief.

She didn’t care how ridiculous she might look or how uncomfortable it might get; she would
not
give her up her favorite clothes. She still loved her jeans, but only when paired with the right accessories: a great necklace, a scarf, some fabulous cowboy boots, bangles…

She was vain; she couldn’t help it.

When the door chimed, the two women who entered were met by a scene that made both of them snicker. Liza, skirt hiked up to her thighs; bare leg stuck out in front of her while she rubbed bright blue cream on her toes, moaned in relief.

“Oh my God,” Liza cried when the women closed the door behind them and walked towards her. “I am sooo sorry. Usually, I hear someone before they come in and…”

She quickly stood and pulled her dress down, modestly covering her legs. She hadn’t even shaved in two weeks. There was no telling what they’d seen. Embarrassed, she searched for her sock and boot, both of which had gotten pushed under the settee.

The older of the two women, a striking brunette in dark brown pants and a red wool coat with a rhinestone Christmas tree pin on the lapel, laughed. “Honey, we’ve
all
been there.”

The younger, a pretty little redhead in a beautiful cream-colored coat and brown riding boots that appeared
not
to be hurting her feet, nodded. “For me? Every day. The first thing I do when I get home is kick my shoes off and stick them in a paraffin bath.”

“Yeah, well, at least
you
wait until you get home,” Liza grumbled.

She wondered if it would be worth it to make the ladies forget what they’d seen but ultimately decided against it. She had to pick her battles. And it wasn’t like she had warts on her toes or anything.

“So is there anything I can help you ladies with today?” she asked instead.

The older one had already started wandering around the store section, picking up bottles and boxes and studying the backs before placing them neatly back on the shelves. There was something familiar about her, but Liza couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“You make your own soaps and lotions?” she called out to Liza over her shoulder.

“Well, I
do
, but I didn’t make those. They’re still homemade, though. I order them from a lady up in Massachusetts. I hope to have some of my own in here soon,” Liza said.

And she fully intended on making her own soon. Very soon. She was just so tired. Every night she just wanted to go home and pass out on the couch. Maybe eat some ice cream or something else that she could consume right out of the carton.

“I like these candles,” the younger one said as she picked up a cinnamon holder and gave it a sniff. “I make my own candles. Not to sell or anything, just to put around the house. I like crafting.”

“She’s not giving herself enough credit. Her candles are beautiful. She buys antique teacups and other interesting containers from flea markets and yard sales and uses them as her containers,” the other woman called. She’d moved on to Liza’s facial products–her lip balms, mascaras, and makeup removers.

“I’m Liza, by the way.” Now that she had her shoes on, she could join the women who were now wandering around her business, taking in everything they could. “I’d offer to shake your hand but, well, you just saw it on my feet so…”

“I’m Mare,” the younger one said. “And that’s my mother, Whinny.”

Liza could now see the resemblance between Colt and his sister. Her hair was redder than his, and her skin not as dark from working out in the sun, but they both had the same lively eyes, strong jawlines, and full lips.

“You’re Colt’s family,” Liza replied, feeling even more embarrassed by her own appearance. “It’s nice to meet you. He’s been very helpful to me since I came to town.”

“That’s my brother,” Mare agreed. “He’ll help just about anyone.”

Liza’s heart sank a bit at that. It wasn’t like she was
interested
in him, but it somehow made her feel less special, and that didn’t feel nice.

Whinny strode over to where Liza stood by the counter and studied her. She must have noticed and recognized the look on Liza’s face because she sent her daughter a withering glance. Placing a light hand on Liza’s arm, she said, “We’ve heard
a lot
about you. Frankly, I am glad to see that your lipstick bleeds and that
you
can’t wear those ridiculous shoes without getting blisters like the rest of us. I was beginning to think you were a saint.”

Liza, a little tickled that they’d “heard a lot about” her, and grateful for the other woman’s words, smiled with foolish delight. “Well, the cream
does
make them disappear very quickly. So that helps.”

“She’s good, Mom,” Mare shouted from the treatment room. “She’s even trying to make a sale!”

“I wanted to thank you for the dinner invitation. I look forward to it. I’ve been eating out almost every day or getting microwavable stuff,” Liza admitted. “You know, it’s very hard to grocery shop for one person. It feels so wasteful. I made myself a pot of macaroni and cheese the other night and after two bowls threw most of it out. Well, I actually fed it to a dog that’s taken up with me. I don’t know where he came from. Or if he is really a
he
.”

Whinny nodded, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I know you what mean.  My husband passed away and with all my kids out of the house I rarely cook the way I used to. It’s not only wasteful but a little sad sitting at a big table all alone.”

Liza, thinking the same thing about eating at her grandparents’ table, agreed. Something passed between the two women then and Liza understood that she’d made a friend, though she wasn’t sure quite how. It had been a long time since she’d had a female friend other than her sister.

“So, do you have any potions or anything for sale?” Mare asked as she all but skipped back over, appearing satisfied that she’d scrutinized everything on Liza’s shelves.

Liza, taken aback, was at a loss. “
Potions
?”

“You know, love spells, getting younger, stuff like that,” Mare prodded, giving Liza a little nudge.

Whinny rolled her eyes and swatted her daughter with her little Kate Spade purse. “Forgive my daughter. She watches a lot of television and has seen
The Craft
one too many times. Mare, please.”

“People say you’re really good at the massages and stuff,” Mare said with a sulk. “And then what you dud to Cotton. I just kind of hoped that maybe you had some fun things to, I don’t know, bring in the men or something.”

“I think you do just fine bringing in the men, dear,” her mother muttered.

“I don’t know what you think about Cotton but I didn’t–“

“But people said that you yelled at him in the store and…” Mare’s voice dropped off when she caught her mother’s strong glare.

“I saw him outside one night. He was lurking,” Liza explained, feeling faintly embarrassed. “And then my store was trashed. The detective laughed it off.”

“Yeah, cuz they’re cousins,” Mare spat.

“Well, that part is true enough,” Whinny agreed.

“But I didn’t do anything to him. I honestly don’t know what happened,” Liza continued.

“But can’t you do a spell and see and…”Again, Mare let her words end without finishing her thoughts.

“So did everyone know that my grandmother…”

Mare nodded. “Oh yeah. But she wasn’t, like, freaky or anything. She was always real classy about what she did. I hoped, you know, that since you’re young you might…”

Mare stopped and had the decency to look humiliated.

“It’s okay,” Liza assured her. “I try to help when I can but I’m afraid I’m probably not as exciting as you might think. Most of what I do are small things. Little things to help people, to heal them.”

Mare and Whinny exchanged glances then that Liza couldn’t quite interpret. Sometimes, the magic between a mother and a daughter was too much for even a seasoned witch to cut through.

But then Whinny laughed, a merry sound that broke the ice, and tugged on her daughter’s hair. “Why don’t you get to
know
her before you start asking her for love charms?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Mare apologized.

The women chatted with Liza for several more minutes and then excused themselves, citing the need to get home before it got too dark.

“We’ll see you in a few days,” Mare said. In her hand she carried a mint green bag full of various creams, guilt purchases for being rude but Liza didn’t mind. She did, after all, have bills to pay.

She’d take what she could get.

When the door closed behind them, Liza leaned back against her counter and laughed. Her last date with anyone other than her ex-husband had been fourteen years ago.

Still, she watched a lot of movies and was fully aware of what had just happened: she’d just been checked out by a man’s family.

“
I’d
advise you to get yourself an attorney, ma’am.”

That’s what Detective Kroner had told her over the phone, minutes after she opened her business the next morning.

Cotton Hashagen’s cause of death was ruled “undetermined.” They couldn’t figure out
how
he died, Kroner and apparently half the justice department in Kudzu Valley just knew
Liza
had something to do with it.

Cotton Hashagen had been discovered in the woods, one shoe off, glasses gone, and neither found anywhere near him. He’d died from internal bleeding but had no significant marks on his body other than a bruise on his head that didn’t look large enough to cause such an issue.

“Probably runned into a door or somethin’,” an officer said while he poked around Liza’s business. “Cotton drunk a lot. He could a done it that way.”

Detective Kroner had
not
been pleased with that little slip of information.

And Liza Jane Higginbotham was being blamed for
it
. Whatever
it
was.

An attorney.
How
was she supposed to find one of those, or pay for one? She had budgeted just enough money to get her through the toughest times of the year. A criminal defense attorney, if it came to that, could cost a fortune. And she had no alibi. Nothing.

Of course, the only “evidence” they had was the fact that she’d accused him of breaking into her business and had then yelled at him in public.

And that she was a witch.

She
knew
she hadn’t killed Cotton.

(Okay, she was almost certain she hadn’t killed him.)

But how could she prove it?

“And you tried looking into it?” Bryar asked her for the millionth time.

Liza, pacing up and down the stairs at work, trying to get the blood pumping before she let loose and did something stupid, like make that Detective Kroner fly through the air and wrap himself around the town’s only caution light, sighed. “Yes! Twice now. I can’t see a darn thing, other than that it looks like I
might
be responsible. I see blood on my hands, that’s it. But I didn’t mean to! I
swear
I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I believe you,” Bryar said. “Want me to try?”

“Yes, I do,” Liza said. “Can you look, please? Maybe I’m blocked but you’re not. Maybe I’m too close to it, you know? You
know
I don’t do revenge spells on people. You
know
I don’t go that far. Those things scare the crap out of me.”

“Yeah, well, you should do them…” Bryar griped as an image of Mode flashed before both their eyes.

“Everything you send out comes back to you,” Liza recited something Nana Bud had always told them.

But she was also on her sister’s side. It
did
feel like Mode was getting off easy. He got the house she’d loved, the pretty little rock and roll opera wife, the few friends they had together, the money…Liza wasn’t even asking for alimony.

“What about that woman with the Pizza Hut? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get back whatever you helped
her
do?” Bryar teased her.

Liza chuckled. “Not exactly. She didn’t, er, walk away with what she thought she was leaving with.”

“Yeah? You screw with her a little?” Liza could hear the excitement in Bryar’s voice.

Liza snorted. She
had
screwed with Lola Ellen Pearson a little and didn’t even feel guilty about it. “The spell I gave her cleaned up any issues they might have seriously been having in the kitchen, just in case, and then wiped the whole episode from her memory. Now, when she thinks of eating her rehearsal dinner there, she’ll only remember the good parts.”

“There are ‘good parts’ to having your wedding rehearsal dinner at the Pizza Hut?” Bryar sniffed.

“Yeah,” Liza said, dropping down to her settee and kicking off her shoes. She didn’t care if anyone walked in or not. “She told me she’d won eleven stuffed animals from the claw machine and her fiancé had played Alan Jackson for her three times on the jukebox. Said before the vomiting and diarrhea hit her; it was the best night of her life.”