Murder Out By Caster Bridge

Chapter seven

"Seriously?" asked Melinda, who, when I turned my head and looked over, was sitting on the edge of the counter. Her jet-black curly hair hung more than normal like she used a curling iron. The flounce of her black dress shifted as her legs covered in black leggings with black ankle laced-up boots kicked about playfully. The white star down into the silk dress caught the light as she lifted her head toward me through the rim of her pointy black hat. She moved her head to the side as if she was trying to show off her crescent moon-dangling earrings. She then giggled, a sinister smile curling her black-painted lips as her bright luminous green eyes glowered at me. From the look on her face, she was not impressed with my sudden and unexpected entrance.

"Don't say a word," I hissed.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Good."

"But if I was, I would have said that you are the world's clumsiest empath of all time."

This was Melinda Black, my boss, and owner of this shop. I never bothered to understand why she always dressed up like she was going to the next Halloween party. When I met her last year, she joked that she was a witchling in training, but I couldn't honestly tell if she was kidding or deceiving me. I believed at the time she was testing me because, somehow, she knew of my empathic talent. How? I am still not sure. She claimed that my "aura" told her. I once, and only once, tried to question her further, but she changed the subject like it was something highly confidential.

"Ha, ha," I said, rolling my eyes and picking myself up off the rosemary wooden floor and then dusting off my jeans. "You could have, oh, I don't know, maybe, helped me instead of sitting there doing nothing, Melinda."

"And miss the chance of making fun of you?" she asked, grinning. "Never. Messing with you is so easy." She reached over and pulled out a lollipop from the jar at the end of the counter that was free of charge for anyone. After peeling off the wrapper, she started sucking on it. With a pop, her grin widened. "So, you want to tell me why you ended up kissing the floor?"

"I don't want to get into it."

"Oh, so, this is one of those empath things, right?"

"What makes you assume that?" I asked. "Ooh, are you some kind of mind reader?"

"Yeah, right," she scoffed like she was offended by the mere thought. "I am thankful I don't have that kind of cursed power. As you know, I am but a mere witchling in basic training."

"I never see you with a magic wand or staff nor have I heard you recite incantations or brew smell potions."

She grabbed another lollipop from the jar and this time she chucked it at my head.

"OW!" I complained when it bounced off my forehead. "What is wrong with you, Melinda? You could have taken my eye out!"

"You are one stupid boy," she said. "Heavens! I thought you were supposed to be a super wizarding empath. I figured you'd be able to detect my sarcasm. I'm not magical. I do say corny spells, but they do absolutely nothing. I can't brew potions without them exploding into a black puff of smoke in my face. However, I do love dressing up as a witch because it fits with the scenery and atmospheric vibe of my shop, and hardly anyone cares. And besides, don't you know that not all magic is the same? Not everyone needs to say silly rhyming spells."

I rubbed the sore spot on my forehead. "I am no such thing," I lied. "And haven't we already had this discussion?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said as she swung her feet back and forth, her heels hitting the counter. "But, come on, you must have been able to sense my intentions."

"You know I can't," I said. "I am not some super wizarding empath as you put it. I wish you would stop calling me that. If I was such a thing, wouldn't I have told you? Besides, you know out of everyone in this town, you are the only person, so far, that I haven't been able to read. And in any case, I still don't know how you figured out my abilities. It's not something people have commented on nor sensed about me."

"Well, your aura..."

"I know, I know," I said. "You've said that before. But you never tell me what that means."

"And I never will," she said. "Besides, I am one of a kind. I'm good about sensing people."

Melinda was always a person I could never figure out. For one, she couldn't come up with a perfect name for this shop of hers. To be honest, I wasn't sure there was a perfect name for it, but I think she could have gone for something like Mel's Emporium, which would have probably attracted a lot more people considering what she sells.

Off to the left side of her shop were used and new witchcraft books either displayed on tables or organized on the bookshelves against the wall. On the right-hand side of the shop which was where I went, the shelves consisted of several candles of various colors were on the top shelf. Herbs, spices, and potions in glass vials were all aligned and alphabetized below that one. Amulets like pentagram necklaces and bracelets of different kinds of protective stones were on the third shelf. And on the last shelf were crystals and crystal balls.

Under the countertop, in a glass display case, were a bunch of candies and pastries that she always advertised in the window.

While Melinda was focused on the few amount of customers who came in, I kept myself busy by restocking the last of the candles by their colors, shape, and sizes. Some were small. Some were medium. And others were large. Some were blue. Some were red. Some were white. Some were pink. And so on.

I loved this place. It was calm and mellow. And somehow, someway, I fit right in. It even strangely smelt like the ocean mixed with that twangy coffee scent.

However, being here also reminded me of Hayden. And I hated it.

"So, who is the lucky person on the forefront of your mind that has you either wanting to snivel or throw something at the nearby wall?" asked Melinda.

She hadn't talked to me in hours and now she decided to make a conversation. What was her deal?

I let out a sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on, you can tell me who the handsome young man is on your mind," she said with a cat-like grin.

My wide eyes gazed at her shocked. How did she know?

"Am I that noticeable?" I asked. "Is there some kind of sign stuck somewhere on me? Or am I putting off something that makes people know? I don't stick out like a sore thumb, do I?"

Melinda stopped her laughing and her bright green eyes bored into mine like she was trying to read me or something. Honestly, it made me feel even more awkward. "I wouldn't say you do anything. Not all of you go around and advertise it. It's a sense. I have a pretty accurate gaydar that's hardly ever wrong. Plus, from the first time you stepped foot in my shop, you are th first guy who hasn't thoroughly checked me out. At first, when I noticed, I thought you were too modest for your own good or just a regular everyday gentleman. But then the more I paid attention, the more I noticed that you had this look like you were thinking of someone extremely important. It wasn't until I noticed you hanging out with that boy after work that I put two and two together. And while, yes, the two of you could have honestly just been best friends, I just knew it was something deeper. I just never brought it up because it was your secret and yours alone."

As I was about to respond, I was stopped by the sudden jingle from the bell over the door. But it wasn't the sound that had me rigid with tension. It was the eerily familiar rage emotions flowing through the room. When I turned my head, to my complete and utter surprise, it was my mother. What was she doing here?

She looked different today. She wasn't dressed in her normal black funeral work attire. She was, for the first time, in something normal. She had on black jeans, a short red blouse, and black boots. She looked like a whole other person. And for once her smile was genuine and not forced when her brown eyes locked on Melinda.

"Good morning, Melinda."

"Well, hello, Ms. Brooks," greeted Melinda. "To what do we owe the pleasure of having you enter my little magic shop?"

"Well, I'm not here to buy anything," she said. "I am here to talk to my son." While I sensed her genuine politeness, an undertone of anger was bubbling just under the surface.

"What do you want, Mom?" I asked as I finished, placing the last of the candles on the shelf before I looked into her eyes.

She pushed the strap of her purse that was falling back upon her shoulder. "I am here to invite you to coffee."