Bloodstone by Barbra Annino

the kitchen. I found him there drinking coffee this morning. Your aunt Lolly had a time of it last night, what with all the excitement, so she needed her rest and I didn’t have the energy to chase him out.”
    Lolly was the primary chef. It kept her out of trouble and Birdie away from the guests first thing in the morning. Birdie didn’t mind cooking, but she did mind strangers in her kitchen and no matter how many notices you post, people will wander where they aren’t supposed to at a bed and breakfast. She once caught a group of people—not even guests—who had come in off the street while she was in the garden. They were looking for a place to stay and since they were told Amethyst was such a friendly community, decided to help themselves to a vintage Merlot. I don’t know what she slipped into the open bottle as she explained there were no vacancies, but I didn’t see those people anywhere in town the rest of the weekend. Or ever again for that matter.
    Fiona smiled widely and made a gesture like she was wiping sweat from her brow.
    I walked over to Mr. Sayer and gently shook his arm. “Mr. Sayer?”
    A trace of lavender floated directly behind me. Fiona was at my back. She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
    “He’s not moving,” I said to her. “Feels just a bit cold.”
    “Well, it isn’t yet Spring. The air is still sharp.”
    We both looked at Lolly who grinned back, took a hit of Bailey’s Irish Cream and began unpinning her hair.
    I said, “Okay, let’s go with that.”
    Birdie emerged from the cellar, a jar of honey in her hand. “I cannot find the purple potatoes.” She looked to me, then Fiona and said, “What?”
    I spoke. “He isn’t moving, Birdie. Not even his chest. You know—where the air comes in.”
    Birdie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s fine. Probably just passed out. See if he has a pulse. I have to dress.” Then she floated up the back stairwell.
    Fiona nudged me and I briefly wondered how I got stuck with the job of pulse checker for the family business.
    Gently, I peeled back the collar on Mr. Sayer’s shirt then hesitated.
    “What is it dear?” Fiona asked.
    “His shirt is damp.”
    Fiona leaned over my shoulder to get a look.
    Behind me, I heard Ivy say, “Whoa, dude was a vampire snack.”
    I snapped my head around and looked at Ivy standing in the doorframe that led to the dining room.
    “There are no such thing as vampires.” I glanced at Fiona for clarification on the matter, because honestly, how the hell would I know? “Right?”
    “That’s right, dear,” she said.
    Then the front doorbell rang and since I couldn’t think of a worse time for Ivy and Birdie to meet, I sent her to answer it. Luckily, Fiona seemed more concerned with the issue at hand than about Ivy and the Bailey’s had yet to kick into Aunt Lolly.
    When there’s a dead guy in the kitchen, everything else seems much less important.

 
     
    IVY GERAGHTY’S PERSONAL BOOK OF SHADOWS
    by Ivy Geraghty
    Entry #9
    The power that radiates from the house of my ancestors is electric! I can feel it everywhere and I know in my heart of hearts that the blood of the Goddess from whence we came still flows through my body generations removed. My grandmother is an inspiration to witches everywhere and especially to me, as it will be my first encounter with an High Priestess of the Old Ways. I have much to learn before I am initiated into the coven, but study hard I will and the Mission shall continue. (Except there’s a stiff in the kitchen who is seriously crunching my mojo.) Now I shall see who calls on the house of the Geraghtys.
    -Ivy Geraghty, Junior Apprentice Warrior Goddess (in training)

 
     
     
    THIRTY-TWO
     
    After a quick phone call to the police station, I darted out the back door around to my cottage.
    John’s hair was unkempt and his shirt inside out as he stumbled to answer my knock. No sign of Deirdre. I quickly explained the situation and asked if he would