A Maze of Murder Read online

  A Maze of Murder

  The Belinda Drake Mysteries - Book 1

  Kate Krake

  Krakenfire Media

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Get The Next Belinda Drake Book

  About the Author

  Fiction By Kate Krake

  Join Kate’s Readers’ Group

  Copyright Information

  1

  Silence. I love silence, and the silence that rested on my store in the few minutes before opening was my favorite type. It was a heavy quiet, resting on the shelves of books that filled the small space. The books seemed to like the peace too. It’s what they were made for. Just like me.

  I wasn’t in the best mood and didn’t feel like dealing with customers. I wrapped one hand around my warm coffee cup, looking at the clock, the other hand absentmindedly stroking the silver snake charm that I’d worn around my neck since I was sixteen. With one minute to opening, I wondered if there was some kind of spell I could do to pause time so I could bask in the quiet for another few moments. A time-looping charm—there probably was one, but that was beyond any of my skills of witchcraft, and if I tried, I would probably just end up exploding the clock, or myself.

  It was another chilly morning in Blackthorn Springs, the only type I had experienced in the months since I’d moved from Loreton. Though summer was just around the corner, cold clung tight to the quiet mountain village, and I could think of nothing I’d rather do than hide away, alone with my coffee, my books, and my cat, Hemlock, for the rest of the day. Especially after the argument I’d just come away from with my neighbor, Kenny Langdel.

  Kenny Langdel ran BrewHaHa, the coffee shop next door to my bookstore. BrewHaHa made the most incredible coffee I had ever tasted and wholesome comfort food that would leave any five-star city restaurant to shame. The freshly roasted coffee was so special, I often wondered if it might have actually been magical. Kenny Langdel himself, however, was another matter entirely.

  Kenny was gruff to put it politely, I guessed not much older than my thirty-six, but with an arrogance that made him act like the wise town elder. He always wore black pants and checked shirts, which, together with his ridiculous little soul patch beard, I assumed was his attempt at joining the hipster brigade. He wasn’t married and didn’t have a partner.

  I was in there first thing to get a coffee to go before work, a tradition I’d started when I’d first taken over Blackthorn Book Nook. I was supposed to be saving money these days, my accounts not looking as healthy as I had dreamed they would, and only drinking coffee from home. And I was doing that, but there was something about the ritual of going out to buy a real coffee that I just couldn’t let go of.

  Kenny shoved my reusable travel cup across the counter and slammed my change down next to it.

  “Do me a favor, Belinda. Move your trash cans to where I can’t see them,” he said.

  “I did it two weeks ago, just like you asked me to,” I said, trying my best not to swear.

  Two weeks before, he’d jumped down my throat about where I kept my trash cans, and not wanting to cause any trouble, I’d done as he’d asked.

  “Well, now I can see them from my back window,” he snarled. “I don’t like looking onto a vista of garbage every morning when I’m trying to have my breakfast.”

  “Sorry, Kenny. I didn’t realize. I’ll put them on the other side of the house after work this afternoon.”

  “And can you do something about that cat of yours? I know it’s been prowling my yard. I can smell piss all over the place.”

  “Sure.” I smiled through gritted teeth, clutching my cup with white-knuckled tension. I knew for a fact it couldn’t be Hemlock spraying. He had higher standards than that.

  Kenny pressed his hands to his hips and rolled his eyes. “Maybe next week will be the week where you don’t do anything to annoy me,” he said.

  I left the cafe, my mouth shut tight in case what I really wanted to say slipped out. Something like a spell to turn my jackass neighbor into a stinking pile of trash. If only.

  If I’d known what kind of jerk I was going to end up living next door to, I might have thought twice, three times or more before moving to Blackthorn when I did and taking over the bookshop. But then again, all of that was out of my control too.

  Overall, I liked living in Blackthorn Springs. It was a tourist town trading in quaint, cute, and artsy, so Main street was lined with boutiques, galleries, cafes, and curios—sugar and spice and everything nice. But that was just the surface. I didn’t know if it was a gut instinct about the place and the locals I’d met so far, or something I could pick up being a witch and all (though a not very good one), but there was something weird about Blackthorn Springs. I hadn’t quite figured out if it was a good weird or a bad weird.

  I had bought the store when I still lived in the city, having seen the place only once before, on my first and only visit, which was only supposed to have been a Sunday hiking trip. I’d fallen in love with the village and the shop, and when I’d seen the business and the two-bedroom apartment above it for sale, I’d known it was destiny.

  I’d quit my job without notice—walking away from a night job at the 24-7 QuixMart wasn’t difficult—loaded what was left of my life into my lime-green 1974 Mini, and moved up into the mountains, looking back only to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

  My new home was nestled underneath a great oak tree, so close it was as if the building were a part of its trunk. With a view to the whole of Main Street and the depths of the woods surrounding the town, the place was instant home for Hemlock and me. It was when I started going through the store’s inventory and saw how many books on the occult and magic I now owned that I suspected there might be something more to the town I’d simply thought would be a nice, quaint place to live, away from the city and the big pile of crap my life had turned into there.

  So here I was, running a new and used bookstore without knowing the first thing about owning a business, but not doing a terrible job of it. I even had an online store. Still, I could have stood to earn a bit more lately (what store owner couldn’t?), but I wasn’t in the red yet, so I didn’t think I needed to worry.

  Hemlock, who was more gray than black these days, nestled into his favorite spot behind the counter, purring himself to sleep. He hadn’t spoken since just before we’d moved from Loreton, after everything that happened. I was hoping once we settled in properly, once all of the darkness was far behind us, he would find his voice again. He was still a good listener, even if our conversations were one-sided these days.

  The clock ticked over to nine a.m., and I drained the last of my coffee and moved to open the door.

  Lila was supposed to be at work by now, but she was late, as usual. I didn’t really mind, I enjoyed the extra bit of alone time. Besides, my assistant would likely arrive in a fluster, apologizing profusely for her lateness, as she had done most mornings since I had taken over the shop.

  As predicted, Lilavati Silva, Lila for short, met me at the door in a flurry of loose black hair and flapping colorful knitted scarves. Lila was stunning, with her brown skin and blue eyes so vivid
they looked like they were set with gems, and yet the girl seemed to have no idea of her beauty.

  I didn’t really need an assistant. The store was slow, especially during the months before the summer tourist boom. Lila had worked for the former owners, Susan and Brian Irving, and I had planned to let her go. But at first I had found it too awkward and avoided bringing it up, and after a few weeks, I hadn’t had the heart to tell her “thanks but no thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lila gasped. “Here.” She shoved a small white box into my hand, the gold insignia of April’s Chocolate shining like an alluring talisman on the top. “To make up for being late. I got stuck in a conversation with Sean, that’s why it took longer.”

  I smiled, and not only because she had a fresh box of April’s sweets. “So, you’re late because you stopped to buy me chocolates to say sorry for being late?”

  “Yep.” Lila beamed.

  I opened the gold ribbon, offering the box to Lila and sticking a cashew praline quickly into my mouth. April Bryn’s chocolates, handmade right there in Blackthorn Springs, were another thing I’d fallen in love with in this little town. Hey, there are a lot worse things to be addicted to.

  “And Sean Bryn had nothing to do with your early-morning stop?” I said.

  Lila looked everywhere except for at me, tugging at her ear in her habitual tell of embarrassment. It was no secret that Lila and Sean, April’s son and apprentice, were an item, or at least they would be if either of them could get it together to actually take the next step past their mutual moon eyes. Like April’s chocolates, Lila and Sean were deliciously sweet in a sickly kind of way, and I enjoyed teasing Lila about her crush whenever it came up.

  Lila perched on the tall wooden stool behind the counter and took out her knitting. She was always knitting or crocheting.

  “What are you making now?” I asked.

  “A scarf,” she said. I smirked. Almost everyone in town, myself included, had been gifted one or ten of Lila’s scarves or a throw, and in the tourist season, she made a decent side income from selling them.

  “So, I met finally met Iain Richter when I was coming out of April’s,” Lila said.

  I looked at her blankly, not knowing who she was talking about.

  “Henry hired him a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t have thought the classical music business would be going so well that he would need an assistant.”

  “Maybe it’s like the book business,” I added with a sly smile. Lila didn’t seem to catch my joke.

  “You should totally get up there and meet him. He’s super nice and even nicer to look at. About your age too.”

  “Lila, can we go maybe one day without you trying to set me up with someone in town?”

  “Sorry, but this is the first time in ages anyone has popped up on my radar. Though there’s a chance he’s gay.”

  I sighed and shook my head. It was perfectly fine for me to tease Lila about her not-quite-lover, but it was a different game when the tables turned on me. “And what about John or James or whatever his name was? Your dad’s gardener you couldn’t stop talking about last week?”

  “Oh, him? Yeah, don’t bother about him. I found out he’s married.”

  “What a shame,” I said flatly.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone for you soon,” she said.

  “Can you just concentrate on your own romance and leave my lack thereof alone? I can be unlucky in love just fine without any interference, thank you.”

  I was resigned to being alone. Even if there were any eligible bachelors in Blackthorn Springs, there was no way a nice small-town guy would ever be interested in someone like me. It didn’t matter. I was doing fine with my cat and books. Yes, I know full well how that makes me sound.

  The front doorbell chimed, blessedly bringing the conversation about my absent love life to an abrupt end.

  Abbi Flannagan shuffled into the shop, her fingers fidgeting in front of her.

  “Good morning, Abbi,” I said, doing my best “I like to talk to people” smile even though Abbi Flannagan was one of my least favorite people.

  Abbi smiled back, peering at Lila and me through thick glasses that made her look like a bug-eyed lizard.

  “I’ve already read this one,” she said, slamming a paperback mystery down on the counter.

  Here we go again, I thought.

  “Maybe you should keep a customer log of some kind so you know who buys what and stop them from doubling up. I can’t keep up with all these books, the new covers they’re always coming out with. Authors don’t even keep the same name half the time,” Abbi said.

  “Not really part of the service, Abbi. Though it would be easy for you to do yourself,” I said.

  Abbi squinted at me as if she was trying to figure out if I was being rude, which I sort of was.

  “Well, I need something else to read.”

  Abbi was another part of Blackthorn Book Nook that had come with the transaction. One of only a handful of the shop’s regular walk-in customers, Abbi was always looking for new mystery novels, the more complicated the better. Her constant quest for books might have been infuriating if I myself wasn’t a hopeless mystery geek, just like Abbi. It was a shame Abbi was an infuriating malcontent. Otherwise, we might have gotten along.

  “I think I have just what you’re after in back,” I said.

  I closed the door of the cramped storage room in the back of the shop. It was really just a large closet where I kept surplus stock, and also where I sometimes went when I needed a few minutes of peace.

  I took a box from the shelf and pulled out a book at random. It was some cheap thriller I’d never heard of with a sexy-looking woman wielding a gun and wearing ridiculous heeled boots that would surely prove deadlier than the pistol. Totally not the kind of thing Abbi Flannagan, or I, would read in a million years.

  Lila and Abbi made small talk out in front, and when I was certain they were occupied, I took a deep breath. I’d had this idea the week before and couldn’t believe I was actually going to try it out. My stomach fluttered with what could have been butterflies, or maybe I was about to spew. It was stupid even thinking of doing a spell with other people so close, especially when I was so bad at magic. I put the book down again. No, I couldn’t. A witch as untrained as me had no right to magic. But, maybe, if I just tried it…

  I picked up the book again. Chocolate wasn’t the only thing I lacked willpower over these days.

  “Love me,” I said. I waved my hand, clicking my fingers three times over the book. A simple charm, though it wasn’t beyond my skills to screw up even the easiest of spells. I wasn’t even sure if it was a real spell, but when the tingle of power slipped through the tips of my fingers and the blank space parted my thoughts, I knew something was happening.

  I had always been able to do a few tiny tricks. I didn’t think of it as magic, merely little things I could do, like reheat a cup of coffee with my finger. I knew I would never be a real witch without the bonds of a coven to learn within, and since that wasn’t happening anytime soon, I was resigned to fiddle around with the occasional fun little trick like this one. The weird thing was, since I had arrived in Blackthorn, my little tricks came all the more easily and worked more often than they didn’t.

  I looked down at the book. This impromptu spell would either do nothing or make this the best book Abbi had ever read. Or make it burst into flames in her hands.

  I handed the book to Abbi, tentatively watching for any signs of smoldering.

  Abbi looked at it skeptically.

  “Trust me,” I said. “It’s one of my all-time favorites.”

  “I assume I can swap this for the other I purchased,” Abbi said. I pointed to the sign reading No Refunds. Partial Credit for Exchange Only.

  Abbi didn’t hide her annoyance as she pushed her money across the counter. I rang up the transaction with a hint of guilt about the lies and chicanery I had just pulled over the older woman, but it wasn’t enough to make me be
lieve I wouldn’t do it again if it ended up working out in my favor.

  “So, when are you going to come to one of my board game nights, Belinda? You keep saying you will, but you never do. The Irvings used to come to every one,” Abbi said.

  “Oh, I’m just swamped. You know how it is. I promise I’ll come soon.”

  “I know you play chess and Scrabble with Henry Walton from time to time. Josie told me.”

  “Well, yes, Henry invited me to a few rounds,” I said, embarrassed I’d been caught out. “But, it’s hardly ever and—”

  “You’ve got a bit of a reputation already, you know, so I’m really not surprised,” Abbi said.

  “A reputation? As what?”

  “Standoffish, they say. Antisocial. Neville says that’s why you never show up to any maze committee meetings.”

  “I see,” I said dryly. It was true enough, but I didn’t want people to be actually saying it about me.

  “I’m hosting a small shuffleboard tournament next Saturday,” Abbi said as if she were announcing a solution to my apparently already marred local reputation.

  “Sounds great!” I lied. My chest gripped in anxiety just thinking about so much socialization. I was running out of excuses not to go, though, and maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to play for a short while.

  “So you’ll come, then?”

  “Of course,” I said, already trying to conjure a plausible excuse. Perhaps I could figure out some kind of spell for a harmless rash or something to make it look convincing.

  Abbi left, and I hoped I wouldn’t see the woman for at least another week, when she would probably return the book as the piece of trash it looked like, or, if the spell worked, come back looking for its sequel.