This morning Ari paid little attention to her friend’s attire. She made mumbling noises, so intent on her mission to the coffee pot that she failed to respond to her friend’s question. She disappeared behind the multi-colored beads as Claris watched with a tolerant smile.
Claris and Ari had been tight since meeting in second grade. The freckle-faced kid in pigtails had welcomed Ari, who only attended part time, while the other kids kept their distance. Even at that age, Claris was into holistic medicine and natural healing. Her pockets were filled with tiny bags and jars of herbs and ointments, which she freely dispensed to the scraped knees of anyone who would let her. Ari was a frequent but willing guinea pig over the years. In fourth grade Claris produced a green salve for mosquito bites that turned Ari’s skin a rosy purple. Great-Gran eventually used a potion to take the itch away; after a long two weeks, the purple dots faded on their own.
But Claris got better at her craft as she got older, and her green thumb with herbs and medicinal plants eventually led her to open Basil & Sage almost three years ago. The shop squatted on the bank of the Oak River in the tourist portion of Olde Town, an area filled with quaint, wood-sided shops and small eateries. Since restoration nine years earlier, this attractive area reflected the glory of the 1800s when Riverdale had been a major river port. Today Olde Town, with its red brick pavement, overflowing flower boxes that lined the streets, and electrified old-fashioned lanterns, drew a steady tourist trade that provided Claris with a livable income.
The two young women were as close as sisters, except Claris was a full-blooded human.
The beaded curtain rattled behind her as Ari pushed into the small kitchen. The sunlit room was saved from drabness by a vase of yellow and blue flowers on the worn wooden table and the tidy arrangement of utensils and craft items throughout the area. A gleaming, silver coffee pot, which Ari had given her when the shop opened, dominated the counter of the small kitchenette on the right. The left side of the room held floor to ceiling shelves stacked with assorted jars of various colors and sizes. Sleeping quarters were upstairs. Behind the kitchen table a door opened into the greenhouse, where Claris grew her own medicines and special herbs, including many of the ingredients Ari used for her own potions and ointments.
“Comb your hair,” Claris called from the front.
Ari clutched the coffee cup and ignored her friend. Half a mug later, she refilled and finally looked in the rectangular mirror attached to the fridge door. Green eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, stared at her in dismay from the center of a windblown tangle of honey-blonde strands. She had inherited the hair color, so unusual for a witch, from her great-grandfather, the human Great-Gran brought into the clan.
She snatched a brush from Claris’s bathroom and tried to tame the tangles. Leaving home with wet hair almost always ended in a bad hair day. Admitting defeat, Ari grabbed her coffee cup and wandered up front.
“Not enough sleep,” she complained. “Up all night at a murder scene.”
“Murder? That’s awful. Hope it was no one I know.” It was a rhetorical comment. Claris’s tone said she couldn’t possibly know anyone who would be a murder victim. That she remained so untouched by violence while living in Olde Town was part of her charm.
“Well, in a way you do. Remember the redheaded girl at Monday’s class? The one who wanted the love potion?”
Claris sucked in her breath, almost dropping the herbs in her hand. “Is she dead? Or did she kill someone?”
“She’s dead. And the boyfriend’s a suspect.”
“The angry guy? That’s not a surprise, but wow.” Claris stopped for a deep breath. “You’re telling me I had a murderer right here in my shop?” She stared wide-eyed at Ari.
“Relax. He won’t be back. And maybe he’s not guilty. We do have another suspect. But I’d kind of like for him to be guilty. He was so nasty that day.”
“Well, yeah, but murder?” Claris studied Ari’s face. “Why are you involved? Aren’t they both humans? Did it have something to do with the class? Are the police coming here?”
“No one’s coming here. Don’t worry about it.” Ari hesitated. She’d already said too much, but this was Claris. They told each other everything. “Yeah, they’re human, but there’s evidence of supernatural violence. Claw