Page 24 of Potion Sickness

“I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Fair enough.” She shuts the trunk. “Drive slow over the railroad crossing. The town keeps saying they’ll fix it, but I’ve yet to see any proof.”

Englebert is already in the passenger seat when I get in, sitting up, facing the windshield, and as I pull out of the lot, he begins, with the windows down, in a voice pitched for the back wall of theatre that far exceeds the Duskboro Community Center in size:

“Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?”

It’s going to be a long few days.

CHAPTER 8

The first thing I see when I pull up to Annabel’s shop is the raccoon on the window ledge.

Bandit is stretched out along the brick sill below the display window, tail hanging off the edge. He’s asleep in the direct sun with his mouth slightly open.

“How uncouth,” Englebert says.

“What?” I ask. “He’s just napping.”

“He’s loitering, as always. Just horizontally this time.”

The bell above the door announces me as I carry the first box in.

Adelaide is on a stool at the workbench on the apothecary side of the shop with a mortar and pestle, wearing an apron that has been rolled at the waist twice and is still too long. She lights up when she sees me.

“Are those the goblets?”

“Some of them,” I say.

“Ms. Annabel said I can help.”

Annabel comes through from the back hallway drying her hands on her own apron. She’s showered and changed since I saw her this morning, but the weight of the night is still on her, clear from the slouch of her shoulders.

“How many got washed already?”

“Most of them.” I set the box on the bench. “Dana feels terrible about it.”

“She shouldn’t. She didn’t know.” She lifts out the top goblet, wrapped in its newspaper. “We’ll check out the washed ones first, then. Scrubbed residue fades much more quickly. The unwashed ones will last longer.”

I bring the rest of the boxes in. On my third trip, Englebert follows me as far as the doorway, where he sits down on the welcome mat. Behind him, through the glass, Bandit has woken up. He rolls over, sees the activity inside, and presses his face to the window.

“Good morning, Bandit!” Addie waves.

“What’s going on in there? Are we having breakfast?” Bandit’s voice comes through the window, propped open a few inches to let in the summer breeze.

“We’re investigating some goblets,” Addie says.

“Goblets full of food?”

“It’s evidence, you dolt,” Englebert says.

“Why does he get to come inside and I don’t?”

“You know why, Bandit,” Annabel says, without looking up. “Don’t play the fool.”

“He’s banned,” Addie tells me with a somber nod. She’s clearly rehearsed her neutrality on this point.

“Banned?” I raise an eyebrow.