THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) by Elizabeth Shawn Page B

much difference when the details came out on the news and in the papers. Most people accepted the bare facts of poisoning, but the elaborations continued. Fortunately, most people have a basic sense of decency, and understood the concept that a visit to the store to glean information meant a trade-off. They bought things. We had early on learned to tell what we knew about the death. She had been taken ill (we didn’t say poison until the autopsy confirmed it) while hosting a party at the store, the group having their fortunes told after enjoying a nice meal at her house. I didn’t think there was any harm in adding that last fact, and sure enough, I was soon hearing all about slow-acting poisons that were no doubt consumed during the dinner. I nodded sagely, adding that nowadays people were smart enough to coat things so they wouldn’t hit the system too soon. I really haven’t a clue if that’s a feasible theory or not in real life, but I don’t read mysteries without learning some esoteric facts.
    At lunch Dora told me that she’d been given permission to return home. I wasn’t happy about that, but what could I do to stop her? Aunt Myrtle intended to accompany her there and keep her company, and while I didn’t see how two old ladies could ward off an attack much better than one, I did feel that two would b e less liable to be attacked—especially during the day with the entire population keeping an eye on the store, no doubt hoping that something more would happen. We compromised by deciding that one of us would make regular checkups on them.
    What I didn’t like was Dora’s look as she listened to the busy hubbub through the closed pocket doors. I attacked her outright. “You aren’t planning on opening the store today, are you?”
    “I thought I might as well,” she told me. “I figure we lost a fair amount last night when everybody thought the tea was poisoned. Nobody would buy it after that. And besides, they were wandering around the store and a few of them had put items aside to buy before they left. I doubt they’ll be back for them.”
    There wasn’t much to argue about. I was making a killing (if that isn’t too insensitive a term to use under the circumstances) from the whole thing. Why shouldn’t she get in on the profits? “Just don’t talk to reporters,” I warned her. “They’ll distort everything you say.”
    “I don’t intend to,” she assured me. “There’s always the possibility that if I keep my mouth shut, I’ll be offered some big money for my story.”
    I flinched inwardly. I looked over at my aunt. Dora might be capable of keeping quiet, but could Aunt Myrtle?
    Dora, seeing my look, reassured me. “Mac’s coming over to keep an eye on things.”
    Her b rother was my aunt’s boyfriend, in Aunt Myrtle’s own eyes, at least. He could make sure she didn’t jabber if anybody could. And Mac, eccentric as he was, would take good care of them.
    “The only thing is,” Aunt Myrtle complained. “We can’t get hold of Moondance. Jimbo finally answered our calls and told us that she wasn’t available today. Can you believe that? Do you think he’s holding her prisoner, or something?”
    Jimbo , usually the most complacent of husbands, had apparently decided that enough was enough. I hoped it didn’t mean the end of the trio’s friendship. They loved being together and made nonsense of the idea that calcification of the brain and loss of enthusiasm comes with age. On the other hand, I could hardly blame him for being upset.
    “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” I lied. I wasn’t altogether sure, but Moondance, in her strange way, seemed to rule the roost for the most part. I think she must wear him down.
    “We won’t be able to open the fortune telling booth,” Dora grumbled.
    Aunt Myrtle perked up suddenly. “Why couldn’t I do it?”
    “Moondance wouldn’t let you use her ball or her Tarot cards,” Dora reminded her.
    “You’ve got that smaller old