She paled. “What makes you say that?”
I met her gaze, and an emotion flickered in her expression as she picked up the bowl and started stirring again. She knew how I knew. She’d practically given me the answer.
The bell on the door to the store dinged, signaling a customer had entered. Lydia set the bowl down and spun on her heel, wiping her hands on her flour ridden clothes. “I’ll get it.” She stalked out into the shop.
A shrill scream rent the air. “Oh, my heavens! A ghost!”
My heart leapt. Had Isabella somehow appeared? Or had someone other than me seen Duchess? I raced out into the shop area. Duchess sat at the counter staring at the older woman who clutched her chest, but the woman’s gaze wasn’t on the cat. It was on Lydia.
With a sigh, Lydia smeared more flour over her face, trying to clear it. “Ms. Bates, it’s me.”
“Oh. My dear, you frightened me out of my skin.” Ms. Bates sucked in several deep breaths while Mrs. Long, who stood next to her, rolled her eyes and patted the woman’s back. “It’s beyond me why I imagined you to be a ghost. I don’t even believe in ghosts.” She let out a nervous laugh. “What about you, Mary?”
Ms. Bates always made the most awkward attempts to include me in conversations. I glanced at Duchess, who sat on the counter, still intently examining the older woman as if she’d lost her marbles. “Not one bit.”
“Yes. Good, good,” Mrs. Long muttered, shifting to see past both of us into the kitchen area. “We simply wanted to check how things were progressing for the bake-off tomorrow. You know the time is drawing near, and I just wished to ensure everything was going well for you and your dear mother, who is our dearest friend in the world.”
Ms. Bates nodded sincerely.
Mrs. Long’s eyes held a mischievous gleam. This was the annual bake-off. While Ms. Bates clearly was here toparticipate in a gossip session, Mrs. Long likely came to assess the competition.
“They’re going great,” Lydia said flatly.
Ms. Bates nodded, producing another nervous giggle.
“Oh good. I don’t suppose your mother’s home?” Mrs. Long asked.
I glanced at Lydia, who didn’t meet my gaze.
“She’s out, right now.” Lydia’s words were slow and measured.
“That’s unjust, you understand. Allowing her to be a judge this year.” Mrs. Long sniffed. “She’ll never select my prized pie, no matter how good it is. She wouldn’t dare allow me bragging rights, although she can’t vote for her own!” She sighed. “Well, don’t bother mentioning we stopped by. I’m sure she’s too obsessed with her own concerns over the upcoming event to care.”
I watched the woman without seeing her, an idea sparking in my mind. “Have a good day, Mrs. Long, Ms. Bates,” I said as they turned and bustled out the door.
Lydia’s hands covered her face, and to my surprise, it was she who resumed our interrupted conversation. “What do you want to do, Mary? You wouldn’t dare implicate your own family—”
“I love Frank. And he’s innocent and you know it. Tell me. What did you do with the wolfsbane potion the day Isabella gave it to you?”
“I put it in my purse.”
“Did you ever leave your purse unattended?”
“I placed it behind the counter when I used the bathroom,” Lydia whispered in a small voice.
“Why did you send me the text?” I said softly.
She moved her head from side to side, tears leaking between her palms. “Isabella’s dead and she was my friend. I-I hadn’t realized… why would she do this?”
“You know we can’t let her get away with this.”
Finally, she lowered her hands, and she nodded. “But what can we do?”
What could we do? Lydia and I exchanged glances, then turned toward the kitchen’s pie stacks.
“I have an idea. I need your help to make a potion.” After taking a slow breath, I looked at her. “Will you help me?”
Lydia’s face, streaked with flour, held a defiant determination. “I’ll help you.”
