Wicked Witch Murder by Leslie Meier

out of her until she produced those black candles and all the rest. “All right,” said Lucy.
    â€œAnd don’t delay,” warned Diana. “Time is of the essence when evil is afoot.”
    â€œRighto,” said Lucy, heading for the door.
    Down in the kitchen, Lucy grabbed another cookie. It had cooled and wasn’t as good as the first. That’s the way it was with chocolate chip cookies, but it was still good, and she took another, chewing it thoughtfully.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” asked Sara, dropping the last balls of dough onto a cookie sheet.
    â€œDiana’s had some bad news. A friend died. She’s pretty upset, so I think you should leave her alone until I get back. I just have to get some things for her. It won’t take me long.”
    â€œOkay,” said Sara, sliding the pan into the oven.
    â€œWe could make tea for her,” suggested Zoe.
    â€œNot just yet,” said Lucy, reaching for her rain jacket. “Maybe when I get back, okay?”
    Lucy was backing the car around when she noticed a little VW beetle turning into her drive. Probably one of Sara’s friends, she thought, but when she pulled alongside the car, she discovered Rebecca Wardwell behind the wheel.
    â€œHorrible weather,” said Lucy by way of greeting. The two cars were side by side, and both drivers had rolled down their windows. “What brings you here?”
    â€œI understand somebody at your house has a bad case of poison ivy, maybe one of your children?”
    â€œNo, well, yes,” admitted Lucy, marveling at the efficiency of the Tinker’s Cove grapevine to spread news. “It’s not one of my kids; it’s Diana Ravenscroft. She must have gotten into a patch. It’s very bad.”
    â€œPoison ivy can be a real trial,” said Rebecca.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, she wants me to go to her shop and get some candles and things so she can cast a spell to get rid of it,” said Lucy.
    â€œAll this drama is so unnecessary.” Rebecca sniffed, pulling a small bottle out of the large quilted bag she always carried. “I have a sweet fern solution here that I think she’ll find quite effective.”
    â€œThanks,” said Lucy, reaching out the window and accepting the bottle. “It’s very kind of you.”
    â€œNot at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Now I’ll be on my way.”
    And before Lucy could get her car in gear, Rebecca had backed out onto the road and was gone. Neat trick, thought Lucy, wondering where Rebecca had learned to drive. Her own driving, she admitted, tended to be erratic, mostly because she was trying to do so many things while she drove. Right now, for example, she was calling the office on her cell phone to let Ted know what she’d found out about Malcolm Malebranche.
    â€œHe wasn’t just a magician—he was a high priest in the Wiccan religion. Diana Ravenscroft says he was the head of her coven, you know, those folks who had to be rescued from the forest fire. She said they thought he was in England, that he always went there every summer. Anyway, she’s promised to tell me more about him, but first I have to get her some stuff so she can work a special protective spell because evil is afoot.” Lucy let out a big sigh. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this stuff.”
    â€œListen, whatever works,” said Ted, chuckling. “Stick with it and get this story. It’s hot stuff.”
    â€œBad pun, really bad,” snapped Lucy, ending the call.

Chapter Seven
    L ucy didn’t know what to expect at Diana’s shop. She doubted very much that the reporters would still be gathered there; they wouldn’t waste time hanging around when it was obvious Diana wasn’t home. But then again they might, and there was a real likelihood that Ike Stoughton or his sons might be keeping an eye on the place, hoping to confront