Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(69)

“If you know something about Ryder or this town, I need you to tell me. We had a man murdered on Monday. I do not need any other grim surprises.”

“Why do you think it’s murder? Hot lemon rhubarb tea. Sweetened with organic blackberry honey.”

I sniffed, sipped. “Four. Honey’s too powerful. I can’t taste the rhubarb. I can’t believe I’m complaining about that. Heim didn’t hit himself in the back of the head and throw himself into the ocean. The gods agree.”

“Gods.” He shook his head, as if they were of no consequence.

“And?”

“Hot chocolate rhubarb with strawberry marshmallow.”

I stared at the pink marshmallow dissolving into pink slime that coated the top of the slurry of pinkish-brown liquid. “Well, this one isn’t going to win on presentation. Do you know who killed Heim? Do you suspect Ryder?”

“Do you?”

A chill washed down my spine. I took a drink of the cocoa, trying to remain objective about the beverage and my almost-boyfriend as I weighed the information that the man I thought I was falling for might be involved in illegal activities. Could Ryder be a killer?

“Two. Too heavy on the dark cocoa. Needs more pink slime. I don’t…I don’t think so.”

“Is that your head or your heart speaking, Delaney Reed? Rum rhubarb screwdriver.”

Alcohol. Finally.

“You came up here telling me someone might threaten me over hiring Ryder. You led me to believe he could be a murderer. Is there another conclusion you’d like me to jump to?”

I sniffed the cocktail and hoped they’d gone generous on the rum. Tipped the cup and took a long swallow.

The air was thick again, the sounds muted.

“Why did you hire him?”

“We needed help. Myra and Jean thought he could help. He said yes.”

“Is that all?”

“That is all. Do I need to fire him? Watch him?”

Arrest him? Search his house? Fall out of love with him?

“No,” he said quietly. “This is a matter of my own. It will not affect the town, or the people within it. It’s all good. If it changes, I’ll let you know. How’s the screwdriver?”

“A solid six. Rhubarb is a refreshing, if slightly disgusting twist. Don’t write down the disgusting part. How long have you been watching him?”

“Rhubarb strawberry lime daiquiri. Leave it. I’m an old man. Sometimes I am too curious for my own good. It’s why I meditate. You should try it.”

“No.”

“I hold a session every Tuesday morning.”

“No.”

“Clothing optional.”

I knocked back a gulp of daiquiri and almost set off on another coughing fit.

Hello, tequila.

“Strong. Um…seven? Hold on, let me try to actually taste it.” I took a smaller sip, moving the icy liquid around on the tip of my tongue. “Change that to a four. It’s all tequila, no flavor. Good tequila, though.”

I looked over the crowd. Mostly happy faces. A few people were bored, others still staring at their phones. And of course there was Dan Perkin, the eternally simmering ball of anger seething in the front row.

If he didn’t die of a rage-induced stroke, I’d be amazed.

“Rhubarb wine,” Rossi said. “That sounds intriguing.”

I lifted the cup, gave it a swirl, and downed the single-ounce serving in one go.

“Okay. That was unexpectedly sweet. Nice dessert wine. Let’s give it a nine, and move on to the next.”

“Barberry Beer.”

I wasn’t supposed to know who had entered which drink into the contest. But it was a small town and people and creatures and deities liked to talk. A lot.

It was nearly impossible to create a blind tasting event. Bertie had done a fine job, as far as I was concerned. I hadn’t known any of the entrants’ items for the savory round, and I only knew two for sure in this round: Dan Perkin’s root beer and Chris Lagon’s barberry beer.

I made a point of not looking at Dan or Chris as I lifted the cup, glanced inside at a deep amber beer with just a hint of an almost fuchsia tint that was actually pretty. It smelled a little like blackberry or raspberry tones over the light scent of hops.

There was a reason Chris was such a respected brewer. He was good at it. I just hoped this beer held up.

I took a drink and quickly stuffed my smile under a neutral expression as I leaned toward Rossi. “Ten. I don’t know why I didn’t trust him. How does he make a vegetable as evil as rhubarb taste good?”

“It’s a fruit,” Travail said absently.

“Yes, it is. An evil fruit.”

“Except when it’s in beer, apparently,” he said with an easy smile.

“Apparently,” I agreed.

“Whiskey sour,” he said. “Guess what the sour is.”

“After this, probably not my mood.” I lifted another glass to my lips.





Chapter 21


“ARE YOU sure you can make it all the way to the top of the stairs?” Myra asked, parking the cruiser below my house.

“I’m not drunk.” I waved a hand at her before unbuckling my seatbelt. It took me two tries to get the button thingy right.