Page 72 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Susan smiled at her from over the cubicles. “I’m so sorry for startling you, dear, but I saw you sent some things to the printer.”

Saga forced a smile. Why did her throat feel so dry. “Is that bad? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all. I forgot to explain. All print requests go to the main desk. Once you are finished in here, you’ll meet me at the front for the total print charge. Twopence per page. No color. Once you’ve paid, it’ll print. Is that all right?”

Saga nodded vigorously. “Great.”

Susan’s smile faltered in concern. “Are you all right in here, dear?”

“Just startled me is all.” Saga felt better if she didn’t have to outright lie to the librarian.

“Of course.” The woman nodded. “I am terribly sorry about that.”

“S’fine, really.”

“Yes, well…” Susan gave another polite smile. “Should you need anything…”

“I know where to find you,” Saga answered, worried her cheeks were going to crack if she didn’t let go of this smile.

With a wave of her fingers, Susan slipped away, letting the door close fully again behind her.

Saga sank back into her chair with a sigh of relief. “This is why I am better suited for solving crime than committing it, Riddle.”

A muffled chitter came from the tote, and the cat popped out once more.

The Somerset County Gazette article was a letter submitted from a Declan B. in Glastonbury. It appeared to be directed to his fellow villagers and the mayor concerning an upcoming visit from the famed “Luna Ravenwood” on her latest book tour.

“Ooh, hang on, think we found something juicy finally.” Saga pointed to the screen, and Riddle hopped into her lap once more to read along with her.

During her visit while on tour for her prior book, Ravenwood had made a bit of a media circus of the town’s holy sites. In his list of grievances regarding her disrespect, he mentioned she had not only taken photographs within the White Spring—which was strictly prohibited—but disregarded the quiet hour because, and he quoted, “The Lady of Avalon was speaking through [her], and she had chosen the quiet hour so that all would hear her message and be loved.” Declan finished his letter by imploring that because their holy sites were for everyone, Luna Ravenwood should not be trusted to enter them.

Saga had been to Glastonbury a few times with Saoirse and Leigh when she was younger. Before going off to college at eighteen, she’d even bathed in the waters of the White Spring before meditating at the altar to Brigid. She had never felt a place so sacred. The mere idea that anyone would show such disrespect and claim… Saga took a deep breath and unfolded the list Avery had given her.

Nothing about his letter implied ill intentions. He was simply concerned about preserving these sacred sites, and who could blame him? Luna Ravenwood, apparently, as there was a Declan Byrne at the very top of the list. Typical.

For the sake of being thorough, she searched his name next but only found a small excerpt in another Somerset County Gazette article where he was mentioned as one of the costumed tour guides of Glastonbury Abbey who would be available as part of the living history portion of the Beltane festival.

“I think we can check him off our viable suspect list. Doesn’t strike me as a murderer.”

Riddle trilled.

Saga kissed the top of his head. “Though if we end up being wrong, I say we let him off with a warning.”

The cat purred. Loudly.

Jasleen Singh was a similar dead end, with a legitimate grievance without the fire of a motive for murder—especially a violent or magical one. Ms. Singh, according to public police records, ran the restaurant next door to Bell, Book, and Candle, and had made multiple noise complaints against her neighbor. Luna Ravenwood had reportedly startled restaurant customers on more than one occasion when they heard her “whooping” and “screaming in tongues” through the wall, even after the store had allegedly closed.

Martin Lavender was a plumber who had taken Luna to small-claims court after she refused to pay her bill of 140 pounds, but apart from this being a flimsy motive for murder, the judge had ruled in his favor, so he didn’t seem to have further reason for grievance.

Saga was starting to notice a trend in Luna’s “enemies.”

Neither Abigail Ryder/Rider/Writer (as Blake had written down three surnames, unsure of the spelling) nor Eugenia Scrimshaw appeared in any periodicals. There were seven Abigail Ryders and four Abigail Riders in the Greater London area. “Abigail Writer” only brought up several authors named Abigail.

Thankfully, there was only one Eugenia Scrimshaw, but she, like the many Abigails, only had a birth certificate on record. There were death certificates also on record for two older Abigails. One of them might have been Luna’s Abigail—Saga could absolutely imagine the woman starting a feud with a little old lady—but they weren’t her murder suspect.

“Let’s print all of these too, just in case.”

Riddle didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in her lap, which was at least keeping her legs warm in the overchilled room.