If Willow behind the counter of Willow’s Apothecary hadn’t seen her before, she had now. Ellie smiled her apology, but Willow looked amused. Her customer, a slim redhead, spun around. Even behind the padding strapped across her nose, that was Emma Blackwood.
Ellie’s heart raced as she steadied the Eastern lantern, its ornate metal frame swinging gently. She turned to face Willow, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Willow’s amused expression did little to ease Ellie’s discomfort, but it was the sudden appearance of Emma that truly caught her off guard. Two leads for the price of one? A fine reward after a hard day’s work.
Ellie watched as Emma turned back to Willow, her voice taking on a demanding tone. “I need something to protect me. It’s serious. Isn’t that what this shop is? Spells and voodoo and stuff?”
Willow tilted her head at Emma, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Ellie took the moment to glance around the shop, taking in the eclectic mix of modern apothecary wares. Shelves lined with colourful jars of loose-leaf teas, handmade soaps, and essential oils caught her eye. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their earthy scent mingling with the sweet aroma of lavender candles. In one corner, a display of locally sourced honey and beeswax products stood next to a rack of organic skincare items.
Still, Willow seemed to be trying to temper Emma’s expectations, her voice calm but firm. “We deal in natural remedies and holistic approaches. There’s no magic wand I can wave to solve your problems.”
Ellie hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “Emma, why would you need protection? What’s going on?”
Emma’s eyes narrowed, her tone insolent as she replied, “That’s none of your business.”
Undeterred, Ellie pressed on. “Does this have anything to do with what happened with Amber and the police?”
Emma’s posture stiffened. “That’s exactly who I need protection against. That savage punched me! Father always said she was trouble.”
Willow interjected, her voice gentle but firm. “Emma, perhaps if you tried being a bit nicer to people, you wouldn’t feel the need for protection.”
But Emma muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “crazy witch” before strutting to the door.
Ellie felt a surge of bravery, her indignation on Emma’s behalf propelling her forward. “I saw your emails,” she blurted out, “about your grandfather’s book. How you were trying to sell it to the highest bidder in a private auction.” Emma’s face slackened with shock, but Ellie pressed on, “Sylvia has seen the emails too, and she told me herself last night that she is vigilant. I have a feeling she’s going to be Amber’s fiercest advocate. The police likely know already about the contents of those emails, so I imagine they’ll be speaking to you soon.”
Emma stood frozen, her expression a mixture of disbelief and fear. Ellie seized the moment to ask, “What do you know about the pen with no ink? Or the Penny of Offa?”
“What are you talking about, you stupid woman?” Emma bit back. “I saw you sniffing around the house the other day. What does any of this have to do with you?”
“I know Edmund left you his fortune,” Ellie continued, watching Emma’s reaction carefully, “but only once you turn thirty. That’s quite a few years away.”
“I’m twenty-two. What am I going to do for eight years? I have no one to look after me anymore, and it’s only a matter of time before Uncle James does something that puts that house at risk of leaving the Blackwood Family once and for all. Eight years... it’s so cruel. I hate my grandfather. I hate him.”
Willow’s calm voice cut through the tension. “His decision was wise.”
Emma snorted, shaking her head. “What would you know about anything?” She doubled over, as if in pain, before straightening up with a fierce look in her eyes. “You want to talk about who really wanted that book? Talk to my brother about his plans. At least my way, the book would have been read.”
“By one person.”
“Someone,” Emma charged ahead. “Ask Charles about his precious three glass prisons and how he wanted to hide those manuscripts away forever.” She turned and yanked open the door with her good arm, twisting to glance over her shoulder, her red hair hiding half of her face. “And while you’re at it, ask him about what really happened at my birthday dinner last month.”
As Emma stormed out of the shop, Ellie was left standing by the lamp, still swinging from her bump, her mind racing. What did Emma mean about Charles’s plans? And what had happened at her birthday dinner?
Ellie turned to the shopkeeper, feeling a bit sheepish about the confrontation that had just unfolded in her store. “I’m sorry how that turned out,” Ellie said, her voice soft as she approached the counter, stacked high with displays of crystals and handmade keyrings and bookmarks. She plucked one of the bookmarks out. A coffee cup. “I’ll buy this as a way of apology for what I’m about to ask, Willow. I came here to ask you about the riddles again. The way you left the café earlier—”
“It’s this song,” she said, pointing up.
Ellie paused, listening. The haunting melody that had been playing when she entered the shop was still floating through the air—the song must have been on a loop. It felt familiar, but she couldn’t name it.
“It’s ‘Burn the Witch’ by Radiohead,” Willow said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “It was playing when Edmund Blackwood first stepped into my shop on my opening day four years ago. I thought it would be tongue in cheek, given my reputation these days.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow, encouraging Willow to continue.
“Edmund, the pragmatic man that he was, came down on opening day to challenge me on my ‘beliefs’,” Willow went on, making air quotes with her fingers. “He insisted that I was a witch and going to bring harm to the integrity of the village selling my ‘snake oils’ and ‘occult items’ to the locals.”
Willow gestured to the crystals and loose leaf tea on display.
“How did you react to that?” Ellie asked, curious about how Willow had handled such a confrontational introduction.
Willow’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “I offered my point of view while remaining conscious that I shouldn’t energy match him by being defensive or angry. He was practically fizzing from the moment he walked through those doors. It seemed Edmund had come in here looking for an argument for whatever reason, but I wanted to reset as quickly as possible. He probably expected I’d try to argue back, but he listened, calming down the more I talked.”
Ellie nodded, impressed by Willow’s approach. “And then?”
“He said he respected our difference of opinion and left,” Willow continued. “I was left curious about that until a few years later when he came back. Came back with this.”
Willow reached beneath the counter and pulled out a familiar-looking manuscript, only this time, it wasn’t a photocopy. Ellie’s heart seemed to stop as her breath caught in her throat. Another piece of Edmund’s final work, right here in front of her.
Willow looked saddened that she had the book, resting a hand on it. “I promised not to give it to anyone unless they brought me the name of the song and specifically asked for Edmund’s Last Draft.”
“Those were the notes on the grave,” Ellie said, the pieces clicking into place.
Willow nodded. “People around here think I’m a witch. I’m not a witch. I don’t consider myself one, at least, and if I did, it would be a white witch. But Edmund thought that would be enough for his little game. A tongue-in-cheek joke to remind us both of our first meeting.”
Ellie cradled the manuscript, draped in a shifting purple velvet cloth, as Willow handed it over. The weight of it surprised her. She hadn’t expected to walk into the shop and be handed such a crucial piece of the puzzle, but Willow’s relieved expression told her that the shopkeeper was glad to no longer shoulder this burden alone.
“It’s the first third,” Willow explained. “It’s mostly arguments among a family living together in a big house, living off the fortune of a once-famous film director. They’re suckling on his milk, draining his life force day by day...” She paused, a frown creasing her brow. “For a ‘last draft’, it reads like a first, but there are some interesting ideas in there. I feel like I’m cheating Edmund’s final wishes, so make it count, Ellie. I didn’t agree to keep his secret if people started to suffer. He knew they’d fight, but I don’t think even Edmund thought they’d be driven to this.”
Ellie nodded, thinking of what she’d read from the middle section. “Given what I’ve read from the middle, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Her grip tightened around the velvet-wrapped manuscript, wanting to run to the nearest corner to put the two pieces together to see what other clues Edmund had left them; he’d predicted the first murder.
“I can tell you have good intentions, Ellie,” Willow said as she busied herself with restocking the bookmarks. “And the coffee cup is on me, and so is coffee tomorrow morning. I think we need another do-over. It’s good to have you home.” Her expression softened further as she asked, “Have you visited Luke’s memorial bench yet?”
