Witch You Wouldn't Believe (Lemon Tea Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Witch You Wouldn’t Believe

  A Lemon Tea Cozy Mystery

  Lucy May

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Lucy May

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1987455967

  ISBN 13: 978-1987455960

  Cover design by Cosmic Letterz

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To magic, to my dogs & to coffee.

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  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: A Spell to Tell

  My Books

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “I’ll be back tomorrow at the latest,” I said to Tara, who was the assistant manager at my bakery and a good friend. “If you need anything, call my cell. Hopefully, they have decent service down there,” I grumbled, thinking about the sleepy southern town where I grew up.

  “Everything will be fine, just go,” Tara said, pushing me out the door of my own shop. “I’ve got this. Go take care of your business.”

  I sighed, secretly wishing she would tell me she needed me to stay. I didn’t want to go home. I’d left that place the day after I graduated and hadn’t looked back in six years. Returning home had not been on my list of top one thousand things I wanted to do.

  “Thank you. I’ll check in once I know what’s going on and why I need to be there,” I said.

  She giggled. “You know why. You own the factory, which we are going to talk about when you get back. You never told me you were a lemon tea tycoon.”

  “I’m not a tycoon. My grandmother loved her spiked lemon tea so much, she made it into a business. That factory hasn’t been up and running since I was a kid. Everyone in town is convinced the old building is haunted. I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed into a pile of bricks by now.”

  “Why didn’t your grandmother leave it to your mom?” she asked.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Because my grandma was crazy? I dunno actually. My grandma said it was my inheritance. I inherited a giant old factory building, and I have no idea what to do with it. My mom said she had her own house and didn’t need my grandmother’s, but it was my destiny to inherit. Did I ever tell you that my family is a tad on the wacky side?”

  That drew another soft giggle from Tara. “You are a little out there. Go. Quit stalling.”

  “Fine, but I want it on the record that I don’t want to go. I’m no Nancy Drew. I don’t see how I can be of any help in a death investigation.”

  “Murder investigation, and you don’t have to be the sleuth. That’s what the cops are there for, but as owner of the building, you could be liable,” she said with a sniff. “I think it’s almost better for you if it is a murder instead of an accidental death. They can’t hold you liable for someone murdering someone there.”

  “How would you know that?”

  She grinned, “I watch lots of crime shows.”

  “Great. I’m two-hundred miles away, haven’t stepped foot in that factory in almost twenty years and now I’m to blame for some guy getting himself killed in the place,” I grumbled, grabbing my purse and heading for the front door.

  “Try and have some fun!” Tara called out as I threw open the door to my little bakery, the bell jingling behind me.

  I stomped down the street to my car, tossed in my purse and pointed the nose of the car south. I was going home. Some people loved the idea of going home after being away for a while. Not me.

  My heart was with my bakery and the new life I had forged for myself in Saint Anne, Louisiana. I loved my mom, but Lemon Bliss, Louisiana felt more like a prison than a real hometown to me. Growing up in the tiny town, I’d spent much of my time wondering about the world beyond its sleepy borders. When I had finally moved away, it had felt as if the world beyond it was gigantic and just waiting for me. Now, here I was, driving home—all because I’d inherited my grandmother’s now-defunct lemon tea factory and a dead body had been found there.

  With a sigh, I cranked up the stereo and settled in for the drive. Rolling down the window, I let my hair fly as I sped down the highway. The sooner I got there to resolve this, the sooner I could leave.

  Three hours later, I was pulling into Lemon Bliss. The town got its name before my family’s lemon tea factory brought the town out of obscurity. Several family farms had lemon orchards here, hence it became known as Lemon Bliss. My grandparents had founded the lemon tea factory in the early half of the twentieth century. My grandmother was known for her legendary lemon tea, made from the lemons grown on the family farm and spiked generously with vodka. Her tea was guaranteed to make you loopy and was a southern specialty. During its heyday in the middle of the century, the factory pumped out spiked lemon tea and sold it like crazy for a few decades. After my grandfather passed away when I was a little girl, my grandmother had closed it down. The factory had sat idle since then.

  There were no stoplights and only one main road through town, Crooked Street. Very original. I stared ahead at the crooked oak tree at the end of the street. The tree had been there for centuries. It was a southern live oak tree. I’d yet to grasp the difference between a live oak and a regular oak tree, but I digress. The entire town had been built around the tree. No one dared cut down the ancient tree that was as crooked as a question mark. Rumor had it the tree had been hit by lightning, split and nearly fell over, but it was still growing, albeit crooked.

  I parked my car along the almost-empty street and headed into what you might refer to as the town headquarters. Crooked Coffee was the place to be. It was the post office, deli, gossip hub, coffee shop and then some. Having lived away for years, I’d forgotten how good this place was. The moment I pushed through the screen door, I was assailed with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. I was starving and needed sustenance before I tracked down the sheriff who’d called me about the body found in the factory.

  Glancing around, I saw that the place was busy even though it was late afternoon. I threaded through the small round tables scattered about the place and stopped in front of the counter. “Hi,” I said, grabbing the attention of the lone employee.

  “Is that you Violet Broussard?”

  I glanced around, following the high-pitched voice that rang out across the coffee shop. I froze. I hadn’t contemplated how to deal with running into anyone. My eyes landed on Lila Montgomery, a friend o
f my mother’s as she made her way from the door to me. I silently sighed. I wasn’t up for being grilled, but I’d best get ready.

  “Why yes it is. I knew it. I could spot you from anywhere,” Lila said as she reached my side.

  I took a deep breath, pasted on a smile and turned to her. “Hi, Lila.”

  “Why, look at you, dear. You are just as beautiful as your mother, sweetie,” she replied. Lila looked mostly as I’d remembered—still thin and spry with bright blue eyes. Her once dark hair was now gray with a lavender due, as if her stylist was a touch off with the coloring.

  “Thank you, Lila,” I said, turning around to face the deli counter, again.

  I wasn’t going to get off that easy. She remained at my side as I ordered a sandwich and coffee. “Are you here because of that unfortunate business at the factory?” she said in a low, conspiratorial tone.

  I should have known Lila would have the 4-1-1 on anything happening in Lemon Bliss.

  “Sheriff Smith called and asked me to come down,” I answered.

  Lila rolled her eyes. “Oh, Harold, always making a big to-do about everything. Unless,” she said leaning closer, “unless he thinks foul play is involved. I hear it was murder, but who would ever do such a thing?”

  “I have no idea. I’m just hoping I can get things taken care of and get back home,” I said, paying for my sandwich and coffee.

  “Oh, dear, your mom misses you something fierce. You should visit more often. She’ll be so happy to see you in town, where you belong.”

  “It’s difficult to visit regularly visit. I own my own business and can’t always get away,” I explained, a little tersely.

  Lila reached out a hand and touched my hair. “You look so much like your mother. That black hair is so pretty. I always envied your mama’s hair.”

  I leaned back, managing a smile. Lila was eccentric, even more so than my mother, which was pretty hard to beat.

  “Thank you, Lila, but I need to go find the sheriff.”

  She tsk-tsked me. “That is some nasty business. Murder. In our little town. Who’d have thought? It’s a real whodunit.”

  “I don’t know if anyone knows it was murder just yet,” I reminded her. “The sheriff said he just has some questions about the factory.”

  She nodded her head. “Mm-hmm, I bet he does. He’s always been nosey about that place and us for that matter,” she said, under her breath.

  “What does you mean?” I asked.

  “Lila, are you bothering this poor woman?” a strange man stepped towards us, interrupting the conversation.

  My attention was immediately drawn to him. He was new in town. Well, maybe not new, new, but he hadn’t been around when I’d moved away.

  “Oh, Gabriel, you flirt,” Lila cooed, slapping his arm playfully. “Gabriel, sweetie, this is our lovely Violet. You know her mama, Virginia. The Broussard women are one of the oldest families in town. In fact, her great-grandmother was one of the founders, really. That old lemon tea factory? Honey, you’re looking at the owner.”

  Gabriel looked at me and I fell into his wide blue eyes. The man was far too handsome for his own good. With sandy blonde hair, a strong, square jaw, and a dimple in his cheek when he smiled, sweet Jesus he sent a little flutter through me.

  “The owner of the lemon tea factory!” he said, with feigned excitement, obviously meant as sarcasm. “I’m Gabriel Trahan, pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “It isn’t everyday you meet Lemon tea royalty.”

  “You must be new to town,” I commented as I shook his hand.

  Another one of those thousand-watt smiles. “Good point. I moved here last year. My aunt Coral lives here.”

  “Then I’ll forgive you for not bowing to royalty,” I quipped. “What kind of work do you do?”

  His mouth curled at one corner in a flirty grin that made me instantly think he was trouble. I didn’t want or need trouble. “I’m kind of a jack of all trades. I fix things, build things, whatever needs doing, I do.”

  “He’s really a very helpful young man in a town full of women of a certain age,” Lila said with a big smile.

  I dropped his hand. “I have to get going. It was nice to meet you, Gabriel. Good to see you, Lila.”

  “Oh, now, don’t run off,” Lila cajoled.

  “Lila, I need to get moving. I promised Sheriff Smith I’d go straight to his office.”

  “The sheriff?” Gabriel chimed in, his dark blonde eyebrows hitching up.

  That was all the invitation Lila needed. The woman was a world-class gossip. I couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t talking about someone doing something, or sharing details of something happening in town. She was a hub of information.

  “Yes,” she drawled out in her exaggerated southern accent. “Violet, here, owns that big ol’ factory on the other side of town. A man was found dead inside. The sheriff suspects foul play.”

  Gabriel looked at me. It wasn’t surprise I was reading in those endless blue eyes. It was something else, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I rolled my eyes, “We don’t actually know anything yet. Lila has a very vivid imagination.”

  “That sounds…uh, surprising. The factory is abandoned, right?” Gabriel asked.

  I shrugged, “I don’t know about abandoned, but it’s been empty for years.”

  He nodded, holding my gaze. “If it was empty, how did anyone know there was a body inside?”

  Lila winked. “That’s a good question. It’s a mystery.”

  “You’re only encouraging her,” I told him.

  He chuckled. “Sorry. I have to be going. Good to see you again, Lila.” He turned his gaze back to me. His scrutiny made me squirm a little. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “I’ll be leaving as soon as I talk to the sheriff,” I shot back.

  “Too bad,” he grinned and left the building.

  Lila was looking at me with eyes that saw too much. Sometimes, I almost believed the rumors about her being a witch.

  “You know that sheriff wants to blame it on us. Well, your mom, anyway. He’s always had it out for all of us,” she clucked, shaking her head.

  “What are you talking about, Lila? Why would he blame my mother for murder?”

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the corner of the room. “Because we’re witches,” she whispered. “He’s convinced we’re responsible for anything that happens in this town.”

  “Oh, Lila.”

  “It’s time, sweetie,” she whispered.

  “Time for what?” I asked, growing more confused by the minute.

  She stood up to her full height and looked directly into my eyes. “Violet, it’s time for you to take your position as leader. It’s time to pass on the torch from mother to daughter.”

  Lila wasn’t that old. She was my mother’s age, but obviously, she had dementia. “Leader of what?”

  “The coven.”

  “What? Lila, you’ve been watching too much TV.”

  She put her hands on her hips and stared me down. “No, I haven’t. It’s time, Violet. We’ve all waited long enough. It’s time.”

  With a shake of my head and a laugh, I walked out of the building. I wasn’t about to entertain her crazy nonsense.

  Chapter 2

  I drove straight over to the small building that housed the city hall and the sheriff’s office. The sheriff wasn’t in, which only fed my impatience. I had driven three hours to talk to him in person and the man didn’t have the decency to wait for me.

  “When will he be back?” I asked the elderly woman who acted as his secretary and dispatcher of sorts.

  “Why, I couldn’t say. He got called out to old Mrs. Blankenship’s place. Someone broke into her root cellar, again.”

  I nodded my head in understanding. It was the same call she made every week since as long as I could recall. The woman had been senile since I was a little girl. She was convinced someone broke in and stole all her homemade jelly. Every w
eek. When I was a teen, we had staked out the root cellar on more than one occasion to see if we could catch the culprit. We never did, and it wasn’t long before I started to suspect the theft was all in Mrs. Blankenship’s head.

  “Thank you. Can you please tell him Violet Broussard stopped by and I’m hoping to talk with him soon?”

  The woman smiled. “I know who you are dear. I’ll tell him just as soon as he gets back. Will you be staying at your grandmother’s house?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to,” I managed. What I’d hoped to be an afternoon trip was looking like it would definitely be more than that.

  “I’ll let him know you were here,” she said. “I stopped by to smell the flowers at your grandmother’s house the other day. It’s like she is still there, tending those beautiful roses,” she said, wistfully.

  I nodded, wondering if she was also going a little senile. “Glad they are still blooming.”

  “Oh, sweetie. They are the talk of the town. I think she bewitched them.”

  “Bewitched who?” I asked, suddenly on guard after what Lila had said.

  “The flowers. No one has that green of a thumb. I imagine it was one of her magic spells that made them so pretty.”

  Okaaaay. “All right, well, I guess I’ll go check on the house and those flowers. Please let the sheriff know I’m short on time and would rather get this all done and over with as soon as possible.”

  The woman giggled, “You know Harold. The man likes to take his sweet time doing anything.”

  Clamping my jaw shut, I bit back my retort. I knew that, which was why I’d been reluctant to drive down here in the first place. Lemon Bliss and its people moved as slow as molasses. I had better things to do than sit here and wait around for the sheriff to ask questions I couldn’t possibly answer anyway.