Page 116 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

“What is it?”

“Might just be me…” The frown deepened and she set down her tea so she could shift the almanac back toward Avery. She pointed a burgundy nail at a group photo in front of what appeared to be a statue of Shakespeare. “Something seem odd to you about this photo?”

Avery scanned it. The group consisted of about twenty students, including both Abigail and Patricia. John Hingley was a handsome man, dressed casually but appropriately for the brisk spring in the English countryside. Abigail, standing next to him, looked much the same as she did in all her photographs, wearing some variation of a short skirt, tall boots, and silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket. Patricia stood next to Abigail and was leaning her head against her friend’s shoulder, wearing an oversized sweater that appeared to have a bit more wear around the edges—perhaps it was a beloved sweater. They were all rather close together in order to fit everyone in and also catch some of the festival decorations hanging from buildings around the square. They were smiling, but all in all, it was a rather banal photo. She checked the caption below it, which read Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare Birthday Parade and then listed the names of everyone in the photo. “What am I looking for?”

Saga peered over the top of the book in order to see where she needed to shift her nail. “Here we have our professor, Mr. John Hingley, all fine and good, standing on the edge of the photo…” Her nail traced down to the waist of the blond next to him. “But does that look like his hand to you?”

Avery blinked, squinting at the small gap between Abigail’s waist and her dark jacket where something of a lighter shade was resting on the hourglass of her figure. “I think you might be right.” She leaned in closer. “But to achieve that, he’d…”

“Also have to have his hand under her jacket?” Saga asked. “Not exactly UCL-approved professorial conduct, I would imagine.”

“His wife had just had a baby when he died,” Avery reminded Saga thoughtfully. “I wonder if she knew…”

Saga shook her head. “Do you think it’s possible she framed those girls for killing John Hingley after she found out about the affair? And is now… I don’t know, continuing her revenge?”

“No,” said Avery with a dismissive shake of her head. “The woman had literally just had a baby, and while it might not take too much effort to hold up the mirror, however big the piece may be, your theory is rather convoluted.”

“And that means it’s impossible?”

“It means it’s more improbable, and while evidence could indeed lead us there, it would be more beneficial to eliminate the more likely scenarios before entertaining that one. When looking at motives, it’s not just the ‘why?,’ it’s the ‘why now?’ For Elizabeth Hingley, nothing is different today than it was nineteen years ago.”

“Sure it is,” Saga offered. “Her son came of age in May and has been working for and practically idolizing one of the women suspected in her husband’s murder.”

“The murder you said she framed them for?”

Saga paused, squinted, and sighed. “I need breakfast, I’m getting my theories mixed up.”

“This is why it is important to build a theory from evidence, Trygg, not fit the evidence to the theory.”

“Eggs?” Saga mumbled the question as she pushed herself up and nearly waddled into the kitchen like a tired duck.

“Please,” said Avery with an appreciative smile, still flipping through the pages of the second-year book. “It could be possible, to build off what I think you were suggesting, that if our four friends are responsible for John Hingley’s death and Elizabeth found out about it when her son began studying at the feet of one…” She paused, remembering the appointment ledger. “Did I tell you a Liz H. had an appointment with Luna the day she died?”

“…You did not.” A series of light clatters from cabinets.

“Does it make Elizabeth Hingley look more and more like a suspect if she somehow found out about how John actually died…”

“Yes it does.”

Avery paused, listening to a few concerning bumps and bangs from the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re safe to be around a hot stove right now?”

“Don’t antagonize the chef,” came the muffled reply from one of the lower cabinets as Saga retrieved a skillet.

“That was an attempt at expressing genuine concern, but as you wish.” Avery contentedly listened to the puttering around in the kitchen.

“May I ask a question about last night?”

“Certainly.”

“My mother asked the recorder if it would be public—that means you didn’t have to get it unsealed, right?”

“Correct.”

The sounds in the kitchen continued, followed by the sizzle of a pan and the smell of melting butter. “If my mother managed to summon a god and the council didn’t deem that worthy of sealing away from the public eye… What happened to John Hingley that had them all so scared that they believed they had to?”

“Your mother took full responsibility for her crimes. She surrendered her information and her magic… She voluntarily neutralized any threat that the information within the report would have posed. Something about John Hingley’s case was never answered. And that something obviously made the council very nervous… I believe that something was the Devil’s Mirror Gideon mentioned—or at least related to it, and that unfortunately that means paying Iona a visit.”

The sounds of cooking without comment passed by for a minute. “Is this about the sword or the case?”